Revolution

“When bombs begin to fall on people, you cannot stay in the meditation hall all of the time.”
—Thich Nhat Hanh

Because of the spirit of the world, and the low-grade apocalypse we’re all breathing in, I’ve been sitting with the word revolution.

When most people hear revolution, they think of governments, politics, power struggles. I like to start with the stars. With planets. With the steady, silent and constant revolution of Earth around the sun, the moon around Earth, the cosmic rhythm that says: everything is always turning. Cycles. That’s where I like to begin.

Our lives are full of revolutions: wake, coffee, pray, meditate, doomscroll, complain, work, eat, sleep, repeat. These loops- both global and personal, go on and on. And when one revolution ends, another begins. One group rises, another falls. One is villain, another is hero. Until the script flips and we start again.

So the question isn’t, “Will there be another revolution?” But, “How do we step out of the tumbling dryer spin cycle of over and over again?”

That’s the rub.

The Dharma points us toward the revolution of perception. The most radical, urgent revolution isn’t one that topples a regime, it’s the one that transforms the mind. My mind. It says before we dismantle systems out there, we must face and free ourselves in here.

And how do we do that?

We begin by showing up. By touching injustice with presence. Liberation is not escape, it’s a return. Returning to the world with open eyes, steady heart, clear seeing.

This kind of seeing is hard. It’s terrifying. To turn inward and honestly meet oneself. It can feel like a kind of death. I honestly believe that if the war-monger truly paused to feel what they were doing, to register the cries of the children they harm, I believe they would be destroyed by that truth. In 2006, Thich Nhat Hanh wrote a letter to then president George W. Bush, imploring the president to not solely stop the war but to feel it, “I think that if you could allow yourself to cry like I did this morning, you would also feel so much better. It is our brothers that we kill over there.” No, the president did not respond.

This inner inquiry, inner revolution, inner self-reckoning is often avoided, because it reveals the horror. And so we distract and we distract and we double down in our bubble and stay in the tumble of the dryer.

When we meet ourselves with honesty, when we stop running, we start to dismantle the inner systems that uphold the outer ones. It can be painful but also is is a way through... That’s what a revolution can look like. Not running away from the world, but entering it - with radical honesty, accountability, and with fierce tenderness. With clarity. With a commitment to collective, unending care and justice.

That is the long revolution.

And then - there are the mini revolutions. The tiny ones. I like to think of them as NPR Tiny Desk Revolutions. Not every revolution needs a stadium. Some happen in cubicles, kitchens, hospital waiting rooms. Maybe yours comes as you decide to forgive today instead of grip tight to resentment. Maybe it arrives while making your child’s breakfast, or while choosing to breastfeed in public without shame. Maybe it’s when you choose rest over hustle, stillness over performative productivity.

I believe in these small revolutions as much as the large ones. I don’t expect politicians to change overnight. But I do believe in the shared love and kindness between neighbors. That if I can help you breathe a little easier, and you help the next person, maybe this block becomes a revolution. And then the next. And the next.

Maybe we don’t need to wait for the world to change. Maybe we are the revolution we’ve been waiting for.

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