Short Journey Home

A friend on our path of mindfulness practice, Richard Brady shares one of the first deeply personal accounts of a lay practitioner following in the steps of world-renowned Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh.

Short Journey Home presents a powerful story of transformation, rooted in the author’s long-term and life-changing practice with Thich Nhat Hanh. Richard Brady guides us through his life experiences and lessons learned, offering strikingly deep and sincere accounts of:

• his time spent with Thich Nhat Hanh and with senior monastics, 
• his successes and difficulties with community building, 
• practicing with family,
• working with death, 
• and sharing the practice with others.

Brady skillfully grounds his stories in direct teachings offered by Thich Nhat Hanh, and he organizes these stories according to some of Thich Nhat Hanh’s most powerful lessons on topics like impermanence, interbeing, and transformation. 

By taking these teachings to heart, practicing with them diligently, and sharing the results, Brady acts as our spiritual companion, demonstrating how the Plum Village path of practice can lead us to peace, freedom, and awakening in this present moment.“From math teacher to Buddhist Dharma teacher, fellow Quaker, Richard Brady’s latest book, Short Journey Home is a lively and brilliantly written account of a life transformed. A work of imagination, generosity, and penetrating wisdom, guided over decades as a student of Zen Master Thich Nhat
Hanh and the Plum Village community, Brady’s is a life well lived, saturated with keen insight, character, and boundless heart.”
—Valerie Brown, Buddhist-Quaker Dharma teacher inthe Plum Village tradition, author of Hope Leans Forward and coauthor of Healing Our Way Home

“My life has been graced by spiritual teachers from a wide range of wisdom traditions. In this moving book, Richard Brady shares the story of how his life was blessed by his relationship with the great Vietnamese Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. Richard's narrative is so vivid and vulnerable it left me feeling as if I had spent time with Thầy himself. I highly recommend this book to people of any and all backgrounds who seek to make their own ‘short journey home.’ I think you’ll find companionship here, as I did.”
—Parker J. Palmer, author of Let Your Life Speak, A Hidden Wholeness, and On the Brink of Everything

“Every good student tries to follow their teacher’s guidance, with varying degrees of success. In this very personal book, Richard Brady shows us, with humility and loving honesty, how he took on this formidable task. Through the inspiring teaching of Thich Nhat Hanh, enriched by Judaism and Quakerism, he finds ways to plant and water the seeds of awakening in the specific circumstances of his life. His stories are unique but will resonate with all of us who have searched for the wisdom to transform our lives.”
—Mirabai Bush, coauthor with Ram Dass of Walking Each Other Home and Compassion in Action

“Each story in this lovely collection is more than just a story. It is the discovery of a new insight, inviting us to awaken to our own insights on the path to freedom.”
—Dzung X. Vo, MD, Author of The Mindful Teen: Powerful Skillsto Help You Handle Stress One Moment at a Time

“Brady is a seeker, teacher, communicator, storyteller, and a restless soul who seeks and often finds peace.… It is [his] honest questioning and his ability to remain vulnerable that surely made Brady a good teacher and a good writer.… The paradox of the book is that Brady understands that life itself is the teacher: that the here and now is the time and place to be, and that home is where you are.”
—Harvey Gillman in Friends Journal

“Richard Brady is both seeker and spiritual guide, one who deftly explores how Judaism, Quakerism, and his work with Thich Nat Hanh have illuminated his spirit and enabled profound transformation. His poignant narrative carries us compassionately through family drama and routine trauma, all the while expanding our understanding of his teacher and the Dharma. Brady demonstrates how and why the path is the way: The road is not always easy, but when this traveler walks it with his capacious heart, when he offers and receives the loving kindness forged in our myriad and dual roles as teachers and learners, the way home opens for author and reader alike.”
—Bryan K. Garman, PhD, Head of School, Sidwell Friends School"A robust reflection on what it means to search for life’s deeper meaning" —Publishers Weekly

“Brady’s relatable personal stories deal with cultivating self-awareness, healing intergenerational trauma, nurturing authentic relationships, navigating depression, and more.” —Lion’s Roar

“From math teacher to Buddhist Dharma teacher, fellow Quaker, Richard Brady’s latest book, Short Journey Home is a lively and brilliantly written account of a life transformed.  A work of imagination, generosity, and penetrating wisdom, guided over decades as a student of Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh and the Plum Village community, Brady’s is a life well lived, saturated with keen insight, character, and boundless heart.” —Valerie Brown, Buddhist-Quaker Dharma teacher in the Plum Village tradition, author of Hope Leans Forward and co-author of Healing Our Way Home

My life has been graced by spiritual teachers from a wide range of wisdom traditions. In this moving book, Richard Brady shares the story of how his life was blessed by his relationship with the great Vietnamese Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. Richard's narrative is so vivid and vulnerable it left me feeling as if I had spent time with Thầy himself. I highly recommend this book to people of any and all backgrounds who seek to make their own “short journey home.” I think you’ll find companionship here, as I did. —Parker J. Palmer, author of Let Your Life Speak, A Hidden Wholeness, and On the Brink of Everything

Every good student tries to follow their teacher’s guidance, with varying degrees of success. In this very personal book, Richard Brady shows us, with humility and loving honesty, how hetook on this formidable task. Through the inspiring teaching of Thich Nhat Hanh, enriched by Judaism and Quakerism, he finds ways to plant and water the seeds of awakening in the specific circumstances of his life. His stories are unique but will resonate with all of us who have searched for the wisdom to transform our lives. —Mirabai Bush, co-author with Ram Dass of Walking Each Other Home and Compassion in Action

Embark on a transformative journey with Richard Brady's Short Journey Home: Awakening to Freedom with Thich Nhat Hanh, a compelling exploration of mindful living and self-discovery. Brady seamlessly weaves his life story with the profound teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh, guiding readers toward their own awakening through deepened connection with the present moment. Through vivid narratives and insightful reflections, the book offers a roadmap for navigating personal transformation and embracing an embodied spirituality. Brady's authenticity and the wisdom of Thầy converge in a powerful exploration of freedom. This evocative and transformative work invites readers to uncover their own stories, aspirations, and the path to their true selves—an engaging and timeless journey illuminated by the enduring teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh. —Meena Srinivasan, Executive Director of Transformative Educational Leadership (TEL) and Author of Teach, Breathe, Learn and SEL Every Day

Each story in this lovely collection is more than just a story. It is the discovery of a new insight, inviting us to awaken to our own insights on the path to freedom. —Dzung X. Vo, MD, Author of The Mindful Teen: Powerful Skills to Help You Handle Stress One Moment at a Time

Richard Brady is both seeker and spiritual guide, one who deftly explores how Judaism, Quakerism, and his work with Thich Nat Hanh have illuminated his spirit and enabled profound transformation. His poignant narrative carries us compassionately through family drama and routine trauma, all the while expanding our understanding of his teacher and the dharma. Brady demonstrates how and why the path is the way: the road is not always easy, but when this traveler walks it with his capacious heart, when he offers and receives the loving kindness forged in our myriad and dual roles as teachers and learners, the way home opens for author and reader alike. —Bryan K. Garman, Ph.D., Head of School, Sidwell Friends School

Brady is both a seeker and a teacher. He shares his spiritual journey in a heartfelt and honest way. His path illuminates a path for us all —Mary Pipher, Author of A Life in Light: Meditations on ImpermanenceRichard Brady is a writer, retreat leader, and consultant for mindfulness in education. In 1989, he co-founded the Washington Mindfulness Community, a practice community in the Plum Village tradition. In 1992, he joined Thich Nhat Hanh’s Order of Interbeing where he was given the Dharma name True Dharma Bridge. 

In 2001, Thich Nhat Hanh ordained Richard as a Dharma teacher with a focus on cultivating mindfulness in young people. That same year, Richard founded the Mindfulness in Education Network to support mindfulness in educational settings. He is the North American coordinator of the Plum Village Wake Up Schools program which supports educators sharing basic mindfulness practices in their school environments. He coordinates Wake Up Schools’ Happy Teacher Sangha of the Americas which offers monthly space for teachers to practice and connect with one another.

Richard is the author of Walking the Teacher’s Path with Mindfulness and coeditor of Tuning In.Chapter 1: Who Am I?

"If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people." —Thich Nhat Hanh, Present Moment, Wonderful Moment

Spiritual Roots

When Thầy lights the lamp he’s given me with the flame of his own Dharma lamp, he is symbolically transmitting the authority to teach a transmission handed down from teachers to students for 2,600 years, going back to Siddhārtha Gautama, the man we call the Buddha (“Awakened One”).

As for the “Richard” who received Thầy’s flame, my origins, too, are more than the newborn who came into this life in Chicago in 1944. I can trace my Jewish ancestry at least to the early 1800s in Germany, my mother’s family emigrating to the US in the late 1800s and my father’s in 1936. And my own journey in this lifetime is like a stream with many tributaries feeding into it. During my early years in Chicago, 1944 to 1952, these spiritual tributaries are mere trickles.

My family comes from the Reform Jewish tradition and observes no spiritual practices at home. The Reform movement arose in Germany in the nineteenth century as a liberal alternative to more formal sects. My younger brother, Bob, and I rarely go to synagogue, perhaps on the “High Holy Days” of Rosh Hashanah ( Jewish new year) and Yom Kippur (day of atonement).

When I’m eight, we move to Glencoe, a suburban community on Chicago’s North Shore, and Bob and I attend Sunday School at Lakeside Congregation for Reform Judaism. There we’re taught an extreme version of the Reform tradition. There are no Hebrew lessons. Services are on Sundays, not Saturdays. What we learn at temple seems mostly intellectual. Neither the rabbi nor the teachers inspire me. We study Bible stories and suffer through interminable sermons. At home, we light Hanukkah candles in December. That’s it! We don’t observe any other practices or even talk about religion. My parents grew up in secular homes, so it makes sense. At the same time I see that even this minimal observance is important to my dad, and I wonder why. He seems to love taking us to
the synagogue. Is it a way of instilling values in us, ones he has no words for? At home our family conversations focus on behavior, not meaning.

Two highlights of growing up in the Midwest are my dog and camp. I love Penny, our toy Boston bull terrier. Penny jumps on my bed, licks my face, and we snuggle for hours, extending into years. I spend four summers at Camp Nebagamon in northern Wisconsin where, for perhaps the first time, I live in the moment and discover what it’s like to feel relaxed. Decades later during a bodywork session with my friend Elise, I’m transported back to one of our camp bonfires: I’m sitting quietly among campers and counselors around a huge pile of logs. Out of the darkness a flying ball of fire speeds down to the logs, setting them ablaze. As Elise gently holds her hand on my back, I again experience the magic of that night and others like it—fire, story, and song. I recognize my first spiritual stirrings, connections with an essence larger than myself.

Education

I’m a junior in high school, and Jim Landers, my English teacher, becomes my first mentor. He introduces me to American literature. New Trier High School in Winnetka, Illinois, requires all eleventh graders to write a junior theme, analyzing the works of an author who we select. Leaning on Mr. Landers’ advice, I choose Thomas Wolfe. “Thomas Wolfe: A Theme” becomes the most important paper I will write in all my school years. For the first time, I’ve become interested in my own thinking. Immersed in Mr. Landers’ encouragement and approval, I have a newfound feeling of self-worth, which infuses my writing.

In Wolfe’s Look Homeward Angel, I read about a brother different from my own. Like Eugene Gant, I see that there’s more to life than I find at home. I feel passion in the unfamiliar, a profound discovery for me, and I pour myself into my writing.

The main theme is suggested by the subtitle, A Story of the Buried Life. This has to do with man’s eternal loneliness and inability to communicate with his fellow man. This idea is represented by “a stone, a leaf, an unfound door,” objects of man’s eternal search, and unspoken word with which he can communicate with other humans. It is Eugene’s purpose to find these things. To do so he feels that he must escape from his “buried life” at home. The climax of the story comes in the last Chapter when Eugene talks to the ghost of his brother Ben.

“Fool,” said Ben, “what do you want to find?”

“Myself, and an end to hunger, and the happy land,” he answered. “For I believe in harbors at the end. O Ben, brother, and ghost, and stranger, you who could never speak, give me an answer now!”

In Mr. Landers’ class, I come alive, but it doesn’t lead to meaningful conversations at home or anywhere else outside of class. As for Ben’s final words, “There is no happy land. There is no end to hunger...You are the world...this is life,” it’s not until years later when I encounter teachings like Thich Nhat Hanh’s This is it! and Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Wherever You Go, There You Are that I am able to
appreciate Wolfe’s insight, bringing his protagonist back to the present moment.

My appreciation of depth continues in my senior English classes with Robert Boyle. His questions and comments are challenging, though, and I receive a C. My parents are sure it’s unjustified, but I’m not. During the next semester, I slow down and reflect on my reading and my writing, becoming a better student of English—and of life.

I leave Chicago for Boston where I attend Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where I play a lot of bridge, learn math and physics, stop attending religious services altogether, and learn little about
myself or life. The summer before my last year of college, I discover the magical realm of concerts, art films, poetry, and physical tenderness. Although my heart lacks the confidence to stay the course—these seeds have not been watered until now and are not ready to be exposed to the light—these doors of perception have been glimpsed.

In my senior year at MIT, I enroll in Huston Smith’s class on world religions. I want to connect with religion, but I’m taken aback when he spends the whole first class recounting his LSD experiences. It’s incomprehensible to me, and I drop the course.

I graduate in 1966. With the war in Vietnam raging, I apply to grad school to avoid the draft. I enroll at the University of Maryland where my California roommate introduces me to marijuana, catapulting me out of my everyday world, a great relief! A group of graduate students in physics forms a reading group; each of us contributes our favorite books to the office library. I discover in Ken Kesey’s One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest and Robert Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, two outsider attempts to liberate those stuck inside the box. For the first time, I begin to ponder liberation. What role could it play in my life?

Russell, a friend in Chicago, tells me about Baba Ram Dass, a spiritual teacher who has just returned from India. I have no idea this is the same Jewish professor who turned on with Huston Smith. “I sat at his feet and absorbed everything he transmitted,” says Russell. “I plan to get rid of all my possessions, go to India, and study with his teacher, Neem Karoli Baba. Ram Dass is speaking at Hunter College in New York next weekend. You’ve got to go!”

My seed of curiosity has grown stronger by now. Several housemates and I drive to New York. The auditorium is packed but oddly still. The lights are low. We take some pills of unknown pedigree given to us by a friend. Ram Dass speaks in a quiet tone about fully encountering life, his presence even more powerful than his words. Every word, every moment speaks to me. Tears well up. He concludes by sounding a shofar, the ram’s horn that I haven’t heard since Yom Kippur services in Chicago, and I return from an altered state of consciousness. I have glimpsed life’s mystery. A few weeks later I return to New York, this time to attend a Grateful Dead concert. My body and mind pulse with rhythm and rapture. Something inside me is being nourished.

Eight years after encountering the passionate writings of Thomas Wolfe, I discover a newfound intensity in the words of Henry Miller in Tropic of Cancer and his other books. I relish reading about his verve for life and his search for meaning. He waters important seeds in my store consciousness. Life is so much larger than I’d imagined. 

Teacher

When I turn twenty-six, I’m no longer eligible for the draft, so I take leave from grad school to recharge my batteries. High school teaching appeals to me, and I land a job teaching mathematics at Woodrow Wilson High School in Northwest Washington, DC. Within days I know I have found my vocation. Saying goodbye to the world of elementary particles, I delight in the high energy of my students and the opportunity to help them learn and grow. I don’t realize that I, too, am embarking on a new path of study and growth.

I remember my high school math well, but I need to learn how to teach. I begin by mimicking the way I’ve been taught: understand concepts and methods well enough to apply them in solving problems, then use them in subsequent learning. When I was a student, I found this approach effective and a source of pleasure. I’m not aware that there are other ways of teaching mathematics. My success as a high school student gives me false confidence in this approach.

Fortunately I have to take several education courses. That summer I enroll in a class called Methods and Principles of Secondary Education. I’ve heard that education courses are generally a waste of time, so I hope to get away with infrequent attendance. In the first class, the professor seems to be on autopilot. Teachers needing continuing education units (CEU’s) overflow the room. When the professor tells us a second section will be offered, I sign up for that one. Anything has to be better than this.

At the beginning of his first class, Ron McKeen, the overflow instructor, holds up our textbook and says, astonishingly, “We won’t be using this.” Instead he reads us a newspaper op-ed on the new constitutional amendment granting eighteen-year-olds the right to vote. This turns out to be his approach, introducing a think piece, then inviting discussion. The course becomes a collaboration between Ron and us, his students. Near the end of the summer semester, we divide into groups to design projects we’ll present to the whole class.

Inspired by a music teacher in our small group, we experiment with the Orff-Schulwerk method of spontaneous experimentation to teach music making. Sitting in a large circle on the floor and holding percussion instruments, we listen, respond, and improvise. One class member establishes a beat which the rest of us pick up. Soon new strands are weaving in and out, sounds rising and falling. I feel a sense of connection and transiency. In this rich classroom environment, there are no papers, tests, quizzes, or exams. We draw our semester grades from a hat—all A’s. It’s a totally new, mind-boggling way for me to understand education. Inspired by Ron’s class, I begin poring over books on alternative education, making my way from Postman and Weingartner’s Teaching as a Subversive Activity to A.S.Neill’s Summerhill and Paolo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed.

Throughout the term, we’re asked “What does education mean?” We share joy, anger, humor, and frustration, an environment that brings out everyone’s creativity. We ask questions, challenge
so-called truths, play with ideas, try out new roles, create philosophies, joke, take risks, and analyze what’s happening each step of the way. Everything evolves from this process and is incorporated into it. I’ve never known inspiration to flow so easily with only a few prompts. 

This summer I also have an opportunity to attend a math class for elementary school teachers taught by a friend of Ron’s named Neil Davidson. There I see teachers sitting in small groups excitedly proving a property of parallelograms. This is a boldly new way of learning mathematics, from the inside out! For me, it’s a game-changer.