This Dharma Thought is offered by Steve Allison-Bunnell, an ordained lay member of the Plum Village Order of Interbeing and the senior practice leader of the Joining Rivers Sangha at the Bozeman Dharma Center. This article was originally published in the Bozeman Daily Chronicle on July 11, 2026.

Last month I had the gift of spending two weeks on retreat at Plum Village, the monastery founded by Thich Nhat Hanh near Bordeaux, France. It was a wonderful mix of new surroundings and familiar activities, which made me contemplate the role of ritual in our spiritual practice.

This was my first time there, and so I saw many things with fresh eyes. I had never meditated with monks. Standing next to the enormous temple bell felt like it carried my burdens away as its vibrations went through me. Eating in mindful silence with people from all over the world connected me to the broad stream of our tradition in a way that practicing here in Montana can’t easily do. The delight this novelty generated was energizing and inspiring.

At the same time, from years of practicing with people who had spent time at Plum Village, I already knew how to follow the practice forms and activities. I could join the chants and songs without hesitation. I didn’t struggle to slow down my walking or eating. I knew when to bow or to pause when a bell rang. This familiarity was grounding and comfortable.

When we think of a ritual, whether it’s something mundane, like how we make our coffee a certain way, or the most sacred rite of our religion, like taking communion, it is defined by being consistent and predictable. We purposefully do it the same way each time. We know that a strict coffee brewing method objectively tastes better. But why bow just so or always sound the bell three times?

Every tradition has its reasons, and belonging to a Zen Buddhist lineage, cultivating awareness is the most important for me. By definition, doing something repeatedly becomes a habit. And when we engage in habitual behavior, we are usually on autopilot, our actions no longer governed by our conscious mind. Many things we do best without thinking. Driving a car, hitting a tennis ball, or playing music all come from conditioned muscle memory.

Habits extend into entrenched thought patterns and reactions of judgement we become captive to, which may not actually suit the moment. Through repetition, rituals can become a habit, thereby losing their meaning and ability to take us into a sacred space apart from the ordinary world. And so we mindfulness practitioners are constantly vigilant in keeping our attention on what we are doing, especially when it is routine.

As I joined familiar rituals in the novel context of the monastery, I realized that I wanted them to be a doorway to greater awareness. Not being anxious about how to do them freed me to be more deeply connected to why I was there, and to develop even greater presence with myself and my community.

Next time you are engaged in ritual, either sacred or secular, perhaps you can notice how bringing your awareness to your action shifts your experience. Perhaps freshness in the present moment can become its own source of joy and delight.