Communication will bring understanding and understanding will

Host: The evening lay heavy over the mountains, a wash of indigo and fading gold. The air was thin and cool, laced with the scent of pine and old earth. Far below, a river whispered its eternal rhythm, winding through the valley like a silver thread stitching together pieces of silence.

At the edge of a stone monastery, Jack sat on a low wall, a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling upward like unanswered prayers. Across from him, Jeeny knelt before a small brass lamp, lighting a wick that flickered in the wind. Her hands were steady, her eyes reflective, and for once, her voice came not as argument, but as invocation.

Jeeny: “Lobsang Tenzin said, ‘Communication will bring understanding and understanding will cause harmonious mutual relationships which can establish peace and stability.’”

Host: The flame flared briefly as she spoke, then steadied — a quiet mirror of her conviction.

Jeeny: “It’s simple, isn’t it? And yet, somehow, it’s the hardest thing in the world to do — to really communicate, to really understand.”

Jack: exhaling smoke “Simple, sure. But you can’t build peace on words. People don’t listen to understand — they listen to win.”

Jeeny: “That’s why peace never lasts. Because everyone’s shouting and nobody’s hearing.”

Jack: half-smiling “Maybe that’s because truth doesn’t shout, Jeeny. It whispers. And whispers don’t sell.”

Jeeny: “No — but they heal. When words stop being weapons and start being bridges, even the broken parts of us find ways to connect.”

Jack: “Bridges collapse too.”

Jeeny: “Only when one side stops building.”

Host: The wind shifted, carrying the distant sound of bells from the monastery’s tower. Each note hung in the air, shimmering with quiet persistence, as if the world itself were meditating.

Jack: “You really believe understanding can bring peace? Look around — countries talk every day, but the guns don’t stop. Families speak, but they don’t hear each other. Love starts with words and ends with silence.”

Jeeny: softly “Maybe it’s not the words that fail — maybe it’s the hearts behind them.”

Jack: “You think hearts can save the world?”

Jeeny: “I think they’re the only thing that ever could.”

Jack: laughs dryly “You sound like a monk with a microphone.”

Jeeny: “Maybe monks understand something we’ve forgotten — that peace isn’t the absence of conflict; it’s the presence of compassion.”

Jack: “And you think compassion can stop a war?”

Jeeny: “It can stop the war inside. And that’s where every other war begins.”

Host: The sun disappeared behind the ridgeline, leaving the world washed in blue. The lamplight shimmered between them, a small defiant fire against the vastness of dusk. Jeeny’s face glowed with its reflection — calm, luminous, alive.

Jack: “You talk about communication like it’s a cure. But sometimes talking makes things worse. Sometimes silence says more.”

Jeeny: “True. But only if the silence is born of understanding, not avoidance. Most people use silence as a shield, not a sanctuary.”

Jack: “So what’s the difference?”

Jeeny: “One hides; the other listens.”

Jack: pauses, thinking “You really believe peace comes from talking?”

Jeeny: “No. I believe peace comes from listening. Communication isn’t about noise — it’s about presence. You can’t understand what you refuse to hear.”

Jack: “Then why does everyone still fight? Why does every generation make the same mistakes, say the same empty words?”

Jeeny: “Because fear speaks louder than empathy. Because we mistake agreement for understanding.”

Jack: “And you think understanding without agreement is possible?”

Jeeny: “Of course. You don’t have to agree with someone to see their humanity.”

Jack: quietly “You’re asking for a world that forgives before it’s ready.”

Jeeny: “No. I’m asking for one that listens before it judges.”

Host: The lamplight trembled as the wind grew colder. The river below shimmered in the last faint traces of light, like a living pulse running through the mountain’s heart.

Jack flicked his cigarette away, watching the embers fall, glowing briefly before dying in the dark.

Jack: “You know, I read somewhere that the first language wasn’t words — it was gesture. Eyes, hands, the tilt of the head. Maybe we were closer to each other before we learned to speak.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But even gestures can lie when the heart is closed. Real communication isn’t about what’s said — it’s about what’s shared.”

Jack: smirking faintly “You sound like you’ve been meditating with the Dalai Lama.”

Jeeny: “I’ve been meditating with humanity, Jack — all its noise, all its longing, all its hurt. And I still think we’re capable of peace.”

Jack: “You’re an optimist in a graveyard.”

Jeeny: “No. I’m just someone who refuses to stop believing in resurrection.”

Host: The first stars appeared above them, shy and distant. The sky turned from blue to black — a slow surrender.

Jeeny looked up, her eyes reflecting those stars.

Jeeny: “You see, Lobsang Tenzin wasn’t naïve. He lived in a world torn by war, division, suspicion — just like ours. But he still believed that communication was the start of everything. Because understanding doesn’t just end wars — it prevents them.”

Jack: “And what if people don’t want peace?”

Jeeny: “Then we give it to them anyway — through patience, through kindness, through listening. Peace isn’t given; it’s lived.”

Jack: after a pause “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not easy. It’s eternal work.”

Jack: “Work?”

Jeeny: “Yes — the kind that doesn’t make money or headlines, but changes hearts.”

Host: The wind died down, leaving only the sound of the river’s song. The lamplight glowed steady now — no longer trembling, but rooted.

Jack looked at Jeeny for a long time, and when he finally spoke, his voice had softened.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what business, politics, all of it — maybe that’s what we’ve forgotten. We keep talking to be right instead of talking to be real.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And the world doesn’t need more victories — it needs more voices willing to understand.”

Jack: “So that’s the revolution — not weapons, but words.”

Jeeny: “Not even words. Listening. That’s how peace begins.”

Jack: “You think it’ll ever happen? Harmony, I mean?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “It already does — every time one person chooses to understand another.”

Host: The camera rose slowly, drifting upward over the monastery, the valley, the endless sweep of mountain ridges veiled in silver mist. The world below looked fragile — yet connected, each light in each window a silent act of endurance.

The two figures remained — still, small, but infinitely human — bound by a conversation that had become prayer.

And through the night air, like a mantra, Lobsang Tenzin’s truth seemed to breathe once more through the quiet:

“Communication will bring understanding,
understanding will create harmony,
and harmony will become peace.”

Because every act of listening
is an act of love —
and every act of love
is the first step toward a stable, living peace.