We are looking for happiness and running after it in such a way

Host: The forest was breathing.
Each leaf, slick with evening dew, trembled under the whisper of a soft, unseen wind. The air was thick with the scent of earth, pine, and smoke from a single incense stick burning on a flat stone altar.

The retreat was silent — the kind of silence that isn’t empty, but full.
No phones. No chatter. Just breath.

Jack sat cross-legged on the damp wooden floor of the meditation hall, his eyes half-open, staring at the candle flickering in front of him. Jeeny knelt a few feet away, her palms resting gently on her knees, her breath steady. The quiet between them wasn’t distance. It was discipline.

Host: Outside, the sound of rain began — slow, cleansing, deliberate.

Jeeny: softly, like she’s reading to herself “Thich Nhat Hanh once said, ‘We are looking for happiness and running after it in such a way that creates anger, fear, and discrimination. So when you attend a retreat, you have a chance to look at the deep roots of this pollution of the collective energy that is unwholesome.’”

Jack: exhales, half amused “He makes it sound so simple. Like all our chaos is just… bad gardening.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. We plant pain, water it with desire, and call it progress.”

Jack: “And you think sitting still fixes that?”

Jeeny: “Not fixes. Sees.”

Jack: leans back slightly “You know, you always talk like silence is a cure. But silence is just noise turned inward.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And if you’re brave enough to listen to it, it tells you what’s wrong.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, its rhythm steady like a metronome for the soul. Each droplet against the roof marked a moment of the world trying to teach patience.

Jack: “I tried that once, you know. A retreat. Day one, I wanted to break something. By day three, I was arguing with myself in my head.”

Jeeny: “That’s not failure, Jack. That’s the process. The first sound silence makes is your own noise leaving your body.”

Jack: half-smiles “You make madness sound poetic.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. Maybe the world drove us insane by calling exhaustion ambition and fear morality.”

Jack: “So Thich Nhat Hanh calls it pollution?”

Jeeny: “Yes. The pollution of collective energy. We breathe it in without noticing — the anger, the fear, the need to win at everything. It’s smog for the heart.”

Jack: “And sitting here in the rain is supposed to clean it?”

Jeeny: “Not clean. Reveal.”

Host: The candles flickered. One went out, sending a thread of smoke upward, curling in the dark like a memory leaving the body.

Jack: “You really believe the world’s pain can be undone by people sitting quietly in circles?”

Jeeny: “It’s not the sitting that changes the world, Jack. It’s the stopping.”

Jack: “Stopping what?”

Jeeny: “Running. Chasing happiness like it’s something we can catch instead of something we can be.”

Jack: “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It isn’t. It’s terrifying. That’s why people keep moving — because they don’t want to meet themselves in stillness.”

Host: A droplet from the leaking roof fell onto Jack’s shoulder, sliding cold against his skin. He didn’t flinch. For the first time in hours, he looked at Jeeny — really looked.

Jack: “You ever get tired of trying to be at peace?”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Peace isn’t a trophy. It’s practice. You don’t find it; you remember it.”

Host: The incense burned lower now, its trail of smoke bending toward the open window as if drawn to the rain.

Jack: “He said something about the collective energy being unwholesome. You think that’s what we’ve become — a kind of emotional pollution?”

Jeeny: “Of course. We broadcast outrage, consume fear, monetize division. Every thought we send out becomes a particle in the atmosphere of consciousness.”

Jack: “So what — meditation’s our climate change policy?”

Jeeny: laughs softly “Maybe. But it’s also rebellion. Against noise. Against numbness.”

Jack: “You really think stillness can fight hate?”

Jeeny: “Not fight it. Dissolve it. Hate can’t breathe where understanding lives.”

Host: A moment passed. The rain softened, and a bird called from somewhere in the mist — a sound that felt ancient, necessary, alive.

Jack: “You know, I used to think happiness was forward motion. A better job, a bigger house, a cleaner escape.”

Jeeny: “That’s what they want you to think. That happiness is speed. But peace is slow.”

Jack: quietly “Slow doesn’t sell.”

Jeeny: “Neither does awareness. But it saves you.”

Jack: “And if you stop too long?”

Jeeny: “Then you finally see how much you were running from.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes met his — steady, unflinching. The candlelight reflected in her gaze, small and bright, like the kind of truth you can’t ignore once it finds you.

Jack: “You really think a retreat like this can change anything? The wars, the hatred, the greed?”

Jeeny: “Not immediately. But it can change the soil those things grow in. That’s how all real change starts — inward, unseen.”

Jack: “So we sit. We breathe. We hope?”

Jeeny: “We remember. That we belong to each other, even when we forget.”

Host: The sound of rain became softer now, almost a whisper. The room glowed dimly, each breath between them syncing, not by effort but by gravity.

Jack: “You know, I thought peace would feel quiet. But it feels… alive.”

Jeeny: “Because it is. Silence isn’t absence. It’s everything the noise drowned out.”

Jack: “So that’s what he meant — happiness built on running is just fear disguised as ambition.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And the moment you stop running, fear loses its direction.”

Host: The incense burned out completely, a thin curl of smoke vanishing into the rain-scented air.

Jack: softly “You ever think Thich Nhat Hanh got tired of reminding us?”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But he also knew reminders are love in motion.”

Jack: “You talk like you met him.”

Jeeny: “In every pause, I do.”

Host: The rain stopped. The forest exhaled. The world — for one suspended moment — held its breath.

Jeeny: “The pollution he talked about isn’t out there, Jack. It’s right here.” she places a hand over her heart “But so is the clean air.”

Jack: after a long silence “Then maybe I’ll stop running for a bit.”

Jeeny: “That’s all it takes. One pause. One breath.”

Host: The camera pulls back, the meditation hall shrinking into the larger forest — green, wet, infinite.

The world outside still burns with noise and desire,
but here, two souls sit quietly,
learning again how to breathe.

Because as Thich Nhat Hanh said,
happiness cannot be chased —
only remembered.

And sometimes, to remember it,
you must first stop,
listen to the rain,
and clean the air within your own heart.