The Practice of Prayer byThich Nhat Hanh - The Mindfulness Bell

Tributes to Jim
Dear Jim, We were contemporaries, close to the same
age, survivors of the Vietnam era, and coordinators of
our respective Sanghas, so you will probably appreciate the
line from the James Taylor song that has been running
through my head: "Just yesterday morning, they let me
know you were gone."
I opened The Mindfulness Bell to the second page and
saw your sweet face. I said tomyself, "There's my friend,
Jim." As Ibegan toread the caption, I had already assumed
your picture was there because you had accepted aposition
atPlum Village; your devotion to the practice and the fact
that you were fluent in Vietnamese made it seem logical.
Then the waves of feelings when I read of your death—
sorrow for me and your family; joy that you had time tosay
good-bye to your dear wife and that you moved on in the
state of awareness that I know you had achieved.
We were brought together for only one week out of our
lives but Ifeel I was able to develop an appreciation for the
person you were. I will always remember how sweet you
were to me. As coleaders of a small group atThich Nhat
Hanh's retreat in California last September, I was in aweof
your accomplishments and your level of practice. Yet you
treated me as an equal because I happened to be comfortable
with leading group discussion.
It's funny what we remember. I was so proud that your
current profession was a bus driver. Though I own a car and
am a product of the American car culture, Ifrequently take
the bus. Thay reminds us in the Fourth Precept how powerful
our words can be: "Knowing that words can create
happiness or suffering." I have seen this to be especially true
when it comes to bus drivers. A happy hello versus snarling
because a passenger is confused about the fare or the route
can set the tone for someone's whole day. When I would get
on the bus in the morning, I would periodically picture you
bestowing compassion on some confused rider. It just made
me feel better to know you were out there.
I'll never be able to be in a small group at a retreat with
Thich Nhat Hanh again without thinking about you. And as
the song continues, "I always thought that I'd seeyou, one
more time again."
Ah, Impermanence!
—Rosemary Donnell
Imet Jim in the summer of 1994 at Plum Village for the
Fragrant Mountain Ordination. As roommates in thedark
room above the library in the Lower Hamlet, Jim indeed
lived up to his Dharma name, "True Great Illumination."
The light of his smile and gentle spirit touched my life aswe
prepared to take the Fourteen Precepts. As I return to Plum
Village this fall, the spirit of Jim will illuminate many
precious moments for myself and others who were fortunate
enough to be warmed by his spirit and light.
—Jerry Braza
Jimand Artie Fauss
O
n the day of Jim's memorial service, the comfortable
warmth of the day pressed on every side—a harbinger
of the summer heat to come. Spring flowers rose from the
earth, reaching for the sun and the blue sky. A Buddhist bell
was invited to sound its clear message. Nearby, the river
flowed deeply and slowly—meandering in that vast transitional
expanse between the foothills and the sea. Songbirds,
mostly hidden in trees, added their voices and music as if to
celebrate their lives,the lives of the people gathering in this
idyllic spot, and that of our friend, Jim Fauss.
While this peaceful scene was unfolding, two seemingly
incongruous things were occurring at the same time. Every
few minutes, a loud, shrill animal noise pierced the almoststill
surroundings, perhaps in celebration of life. At the same
time, snow-like wisps of white material were gently flying
through the warm air. Some were searching for a place to
land, others were content to drift aimlessly on. Ihad
forgotten about Cottonwood trees and their ability to
generate these wintry signs in May—a subtle reminder, that
the winter of our lives is not far removed from the spring.
Many beautiful and loving words were said about Jim
that afternoon. Family and friends remembered, and tears
were softly shed. I had not known Jim very well before this
day, but at its conclusion I felt a genuine kinship to this
spiritual being. I particularly liked what Maxine had to say
about him. She considered their friendship cemented by a
mutual love of intense valley heat. Six days later, at the
Vietnam veterans' workshop, she looked up into the
heavens and said that Jim must be up there directing the
weather to provide this beautiful, soon-to-be hot day for his
friends to celebrate life and to remember him.
—Bill Boykin