On Mindful Democracy

A Declaration of Interdependence to Mend a Fractured World

“So many roads lead to the insight of interdependence.

Perhaps all roads do, if you follow them long enough.”

—Jeremy David Engels

This July, in honor of the recent 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence of the United States, I’m thrilled to highlight a new book that engages with democracy in both fresh and timeless ways. On Mindful Democracy by Jeremy David Engels is a concise guide to clarity by a mentor I deeply admire. It’s filled with gentle aphorisms and practical suggestions that are remarkably accessible for both expert meditators and newcomers alike.

I was impressed by the deftness with which he synthesizes his sources—Martin Luther King Jr., Thich Nhat Hahn, Walt Whitman, John Dewey, and several Buddhist sutras—to make a compelling case for the interrelatedness of mindfulness and democracy. For Engels, “Democracy is a practice” (2), “Life is a collaboration” (4), and mindfulness is “slowing down and looking deeply” (8). “Life is a miracle,” Engels adds, that “deserves all our attention,” because “it took four-and-a-half billion years for each of us to wake up this morning” (20). Through the gradual accumulation of such deceptively simple syllogisms, Engels shows how democracy, as community life, can’t exist without recognizing our inherent relationship to everything else—an epiphany that leads naturally to a caring awareness for everything and everyone around us.

Engels is also a poet, who not only asserts interdependence, but paints a vivid picture of it: “Our bodies are fashioned out of earth and sky and wind and fire and stardust. Our breath is the wind that rings the hot equator, our blood the world’s waves and rivers, our bodies its mountains and soils… Our lives are the gentle arc of the sun rising over the horizon and sinking back again” (20-21). I particularly enjoyed the eighth chapter on mindful use of screens and media, as well as the quartet of chapters on rhetoric, deliberation, and changing our minds (chapters 21-24).

In short, I can’t recommend it more highly. I’ll be back with more recommendations in August, but read on! Below, you can find a short original essay by Jeremy himself, which I’m honored to include here. It offers a further flavor of the kind of writing and insight you can expect from his important book.

No Mud, No Lotus—A Mantra for America’s 250th Birthday

July 4 is “America’s birthday,” and birthdays – our own and our country’s – are a time for reflection.

Right now there is a tendency to deny and ignore the dark side of American history, based on the mistaken belief that one cannot both recognize injustice (past and present) and also love one’s country. To simply erase the ugliness of our past from historical markers and textbooks and government websites does not make injustice disappear, however. What this erasure does is deny us a chance to learn from it and to grow. Dark and light are not opposites: without darkness, light lacks meaning.

On the United States’ 250^th birthday, let us have the courage to reflect on our triumphs and also our failures. If we see them clearly, our failures need not define us – they become stepping stones along the path to a better future.

In the Plum Village tradition of meditation, began by Zen Buddhist monk, poet, and mindfulness teacher Thich Nhat Hanh, we have a saying: “No mud, no lotus.” The lotus flower is a symbol of enlightenment. It also represents our deepest dreams and hopes and aspirations: what we pursue when we pursue happiness. I hold no mud, no lotus close to heart as a personal mantra – and during this season of anniversary I submit these words to my readers as an invitation to reflection, consideration, and conversation.

The beautiful lotus flower roots in mud and rises through murky waters in search of light—just like us. It’s easy to get stuck in the mud, to be mired in the darkness of fear and frustration and hate and division. Unfortunately, mud is like quicksand: the more you struggle against it, the deeper you sink. And like quicksand, you ignore the mud at your own peril.

But that is precisely what many of us do today. To ignore how stuck in the mud we’ve become, we distract ourselves with an endless parade of content: the never-ending fireworks show on our phones. There is always more pie, another ice cream sundae, to eat online – or to throw in the face of someone we don’t like – but the cost is an upset stomach (and rotting teeth). What would happen if we stopped the doomscrolling and online shopping, if we refused to follow all the red herrings down the road of scapegoats toward the crossroads of confusion, and instead followed the example of the lotus?

We find light not by denying that mud exists or distracting ourselves from it, not by cursing it or waging war on it. The trick is to use the mud to grow. Then we figure out how to grow and blossom together. Without mud, there would be no lotus. Without suffering, we would not be motivated to change. It is by responding to life’s difficulties that we discover our pluck and grit and learn what we are capable of.

Lotus flowers do not grow alone. They grow in communities atop the water, spreading through rhizomes in the mud and seeds on the wind. Lotus flowers growing in the same pond share the same air, the same sunlight, and the same mud. The same is true of us as human beings, and Americans. Every autobiography is a story of joy and pain. And yet, when we become hyper-focused on the twists and turns of our own narrative, it becomes easy to overlook how much of our story is shared with other people, how much of our sorrow and suffering is intimately known by others in their own lives.

Often, it is a feeling of isolation or victimization that compounds our suffering. Knowing we are not the only ones to feel the way we sometimes do can be a potent balm. On America’s birthday, why not share our stories with each other? Why not tell each other our hopes and dreams and fears? Why not set down our phones and labels and take the time to really talk? Perhaps we would realize that happiness is not an apple pie with a limited number of slices. Perhaps we would see how connected we really are, and how much each of us benefit when there is less suffering, and more joy, in the world.

On this auspicious holiday, I invite you to remember that lotus flowers grow from the mud, and to look around and see that there is a lot of mud right now. Now, ask yourself, and others, what will we grow from the mud we are share? And how will we do this together?