My illustration depicts some of these spaces. At the center is my inner island, resembling an adobe house in New Mexico. There is much silence within this sanctuary, along with many of the books I love, especially those written by Thich Nhat Hanh. Locks rest on two of the windows, safeguarding my need for deep silence. The energy of both the sun and the moon is always welcome there.
Outside the casita are sanctuaries — sometimes unexpected — that we may find within one another. On the roof of the casita is Thich Nhat Hanh with the French soldier who found refuge with Thay in his monastery in Vietnam. On the other side are myself and a nun I recently met during a retreat in the Netherlands. Above them are the Buddha and the mountains, where I too find refuge. These mountains resemble the rolling hills I have encountered in many places throughout my life. I love the mountains when they are vibrant and alive with energy as they move across the landscape.
To the right of the Buddha is impermanence, represented through the life cycle I have shared with my mother — from the time I was in her womb to these recent days, when she has become so fragile. When she continues, the very special tree she showed me, which blooms only one day each year, will remind me of her. She will always live within me, even in impermanence.
On the opposite side is another circle, representing the circles of cariño (endearment) I hold in my healing house, as well as the sanghas around the world that sustain me.
Below that image is a scene from Puerto Rico, one of my favorite places, toward which I often walk during my daily walking meditation while visiting my elderly mother. The walk along the ocean shore lasts about half an hour. When I arrive, I feel that I have truly arrived — that I am home.
On the opposite side of that image is Thich Nhat Hanh as a child, as he describes in Cultivating the Mind of Love. As a boy, he searched for a hermit in the mountains of Vietnam. Though he never found the hermit, he instead discovered a beautiful, peaceful spring near where he fell asleep in deep serenity. That experience remained with him profoundly, and it inspired this part of the illustration.
There is also an image of me sitting in one of my favorite trees in Puerto Rico: a ceiba tree, inspired by the magnificent ceiba with enormous roots you see in my photo near El Morro Castle in San Juan. I am reading in deep silence in one of the most beautiful trees alive — a tree that makes me feel at home.
On the other side is my ancestral tree, made up of close relatives and ancestral figures, including an Indigenous woman and an African woman. There are also my spiritual teachers — Thich Nhat Hanh and Gandhi — alongside other teachers I deeply admire, such as Rachel Carson and Jane Goodall.
At the center stands Pachamama, accompanied by an iguana, a turtle, and a coquí, like those I have encountered in my beloved Puerto Rico.
