Nineteen Monks (And One Dog) Walked into Our Lives

Why This Quixotic March Was Just What We Needed

Sitting inside Washington, DC’s National Cathedral, gazing at the soaring ceiling and intricate stained glass, I felt something I have not felt in a long time: the suspicion—no, the knowledge—that I was witnessing greatness. It was not the greatness of Jesus or Moses. Nor was it the greatness of presidents and other dignitaries who have sat in these very pews. No, it was the greatness born of gentle simplicity and unwavering compassion. It was the greatness that manifests spontaneously when human beings take a stand, one step at a time.

I was witnessing the culmination of the Walk for Peace, a 2,300 mile trek from Fort Worth,Texas to Washington, DC, undertaken by nineteen monks and their faithful dog, Aloka, a stray from India who, inexplicably, miraculously, found himself in the American limelight. Aloka has more than one million followers on Facebook, dwarfing my numbers. Normally this sort of discrepancy would lead to a flash of envy on my part, but not now. I am not competing with Aloka.

Aloka had no political agenda. Nor did the monks accompanying him. They were not advocating for or against any particular policy. They were not canvassing for votes. They were not selling anything—except for peace, compassion and mindfulness. It was the least Washington moment I’ve ever experienced in Washington.

Standing at the dias, the senior monk, Bhikkhu Pannakara, offered simple words of advice. “Don’t pick up your cell phone first thing in the morning,” he said. “Make your bed instead.” Then, write down these simple words: “Today is my peaceful day.” Write it slowly, intentionally, and see what happens.

Was the Walk for Peace naive? Quixotic? Absolutely. And thank the Buddha, I say. The world could use a little less Machiavelli and a little more Don Quixote.

“We have no peace to bring you,” Pannakara said. “We can only raise awareness.” Yet, as the Buddha taught, that is no small thing. In fact, it is the only thing. We are the sum total of our thoughts and perceptions. Nothing more, nothing less. Reality is not something out there; we make our own reality, one thought at a time.

The walking part of the Walk for Peace mattered at least as much as the peace part. Had the monks traversed the 2,300 miles by bus or train or moped or even bicycle, it would not have had the same impact. Walking resonates. Walking inspires. Walking transcends. Why?

Walking is egalitarian. Almost anybody can walk. Old and young walk. Rich and poor walk. Walking requires no expensive equipment, no silly accessories. Walking is one of the few unadorned activities still available to us, one that, as author Rebecca Solnit observes in her book, remains “essentially unimproved since the dawn of time.” The monks did not wear pricey Ecco shoes. They walked barefoot, or in socks.

Walking is humbling. Strutting and prancing do not count as walking. They are performative, and walking is not a performance. It is humility in motion. Walking reminds us that we are but guests on Planet Earth, and we must tread lightly.

Walking is meditative. When the monks departed Fort Worth, they did not abandon their meditative practice. They merely took it on the road. Every step, explained Pannakara, is an exercise in mindfulness, a meditation. Step. Breathe. Repeat.

Walking is curative. If you’re feeling down, don’t mope. Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Don’t binge-eat Ben & Jerry’s Rocky Road. Go for a walk. Don’t think. Just walk And walk, and walk. I guarantee you will feel better.

With the right mindset, every walk is a pilgrimage, every step a doorway to the new and revelatory.

Walking is an act of resistance. The monks may have had no agenda, but their walk was not aimless. By walking for peace, the monks joined a long tradition of peripatetic purpose. From Mahatma Gandhi and the Indian independence movement to Martin Luther King, Jr., and the civil rights movement, walking and protest have been joined at the hip.

In the 1930s, Gandhi and eighty of his followers set out from his ashram in Ahmadabad, heading south, toward the Arabian Sea. By the time they reached the coast, twenty-four days later, the number of followers had swelled to several thousand. They watched as Gandhi scooped up a handful of salt from the natural deposits, in blatant violation of British law. The Great Salt March marked a turning point on the road to independence. (Gandhi never stopped walking. He died, at the hands of an assassin’s bullet, while walking.)

Years later, King, an admirer of Gandhi who had traveled to India, deployed the “stern love” of nonviolent resistance, as well as the walking protest, in the civil rights movement. The Birmingham campaign of early 1963 began with a series of marches, culminating in the historic march on Washington in August of that year. These marches were peaceful but not passive. As King’s fellow activist John Lewis knew so well, walking can be a powerful act of defiance and can lead to “good trouble.”

So, do yourself a favor and take a hike— or a stroll or a saunter or an amble. Call it what you like, but do it: put one foot in front of the other, and walk.

Speaking of Buddhist monks, I invite you to join me for my Writing & Wellbeing Workshop in the Himalayan Buddhist Kingdom of Bhutan. No writing experience required. (No wellbeing experience either.) The dates are April 29 to May 9, 2026. Details here. Only a few slots still open. Join me!