About Monks

About Monks Stories about Buddhist Monks on PEI

Have you ever wondered why monastics carry those beautiful strands of beads? Many of our Island friends have asked about...
03/24/2026

Have you ever wondered why monastics carry those beautiful strands of beads? Many of our Island friends have asked about their significance, and the story behind them is as profound as the peace they help create.

These aren't just ornaments—they are Mala beads, a sacred tool with a history dating back over 2,500 years. Here’s a closer look at what they represent:

📿 A Gift of Peace: Tradition tells us that the Buddha first suggested using these beads to a King who sought a way to ease his people’s suffering. The Buddha advised him to string 108 seeds and recite "Namu Buddha, Namu Dharma, Namu Sangha" to find clarity and calm.

📿The Sacred 108: Why 108? It’s a purposeful number. It represents the 108 human "afflictions" or distractions (derived from our senses and emotions across past, present, and future). By moving through 108 beads, one symbolically moves past these distractions toward a state of inner quiet.

📿A "Spiritual Abacus": The Mala acts as a physical anchor. In a world full of noise, the rhythmic movement of fingers over wood or seeds helps "tether" the mind to the present moment. Whether counting breaths or mantras, it’s a practice of steady, gentle focus.

📿 Natural Connection: Most Malas are made from sustainable, natural materials like Bodhi seeds or fragrant Sandalwood. They remind us of our deep connection to the Earth and the simplicity of a mindful life.

Next time you see these beads, you’re seeing a millennia-old practice of mindfulness in action—a small bridge between ancient wisdom and our modern daily lives.

It’s a joy to share these traditions with our Island friends. Wishing everyone a peaceful and mindful week! 🙏

Late last year, I received a message from my parents that no one is ever truly ready for: my grandfather, who has always...
03/17/2026

Late last year, I received a message from my parents that no one is ever truly ready for: my grandfather, who has always been so dear to me, was diagnosed with stage IV stomach cancer. At 95 years old, his body was like a candle flickering in the wind. The doctors advised palliative care, focusing on peace and comfort rather than aggressive treatment.

My parents hoped I could return home one last time while he was still conscious. When my monastery learned of the situation, they didn’t just grant me leave—they immediately arranged my flight and sent a fellow monk to accompany me back to Taiwan.

The day I arrived, my mother told me that Grandfather insisted on waiting for me in the living room. Despite his extreme frailty, he sat upright on the sofa for over an hour. The moment I pushed open the door, his face lit up with the most beautiful smile. He reached out both hands, and as I rushed to hold them, all I could say through my heart was, "Thank you."

My grandfather reached the end of his journey on the final day of 2025. While my family and I feel the weight of his absence, the Dharma teaches us that life is a continuous stream—an unfolding sequence that does not end with the breath. During that final time together, I was able to say my goodbyes and express my deepest gratitude.

He moved on to his next life carrying the collective blessings of my family and my monastic community. Rest in peace, Grandfather. Your love remains a part of my practice every single day. 🙏

- Venerable James

Three years ago, my grandfather left this world.When I was growing up, he was always there.Many holidays, many childhood...
03/10/2026

Three years ago, my grandfather left this world.

When I was growing up, he was always there.
Many holidays, many childhood memories — they were all shared with him.

Even after I moved to PEI, we still video-called on special days.
He would smile quietly. His voice was gentle and calm.

Sometimes we recited a few lines of old poetry together.
Sometimes he would tell stories about the silly things I did as a child — and we would laugh like we always had.

In 2023, at the age of 97, his body slowly grew weaker, and he passed away peacefully.

My mother was in Taiwan. I was in PEI.
During those days, we both lit candles.

I remember how heavy my heart felt.

Then my teacher said something that changed the way I saw my grief.

“If you only hold on to your own sorrow, it will crush you.
But if you remember that many people in this world are grieving just like you, your pain can become compassion.”

That sentence stayed with me.

I realized something simple.

If losing someone I love hurts this much,
then somewhere in this world, someone else must be carrying the same pain tonight.

So the candle I lit was no longer only for my grandfather.

Quietly, I made a wish in my heart:

May those who are grieving be gently held.
May those who never had the chance to say goodbye find peace.
May there always be a small light in the darkest moments of this world.

Slowly, something changed inside me.

The grief did not disappear.
But it became softer.

It stopped being a stone sitting in my heart,
and slowly became a small light.

A light that helps me understand others a little more.
A light that reminds me to care a little more.

A month ago, something very sad happened in Tumbler Ridge.

Tonight, if you are willing,
light a candle.

Not just for one person.

But for everyone in this world who is carrying a goodbye that came too soon.

Because sometimes,
the smallest light
can help someone make it through the night.

— Venerable Goodwin 🕯️

I have always loved dogs.So whenever I hear that a new dog might be coming to the monastery, I get very excited.One day ...
03/07/2026

I have always loved dogs.
So whenever I hear that a new dog might be coming to the monastery, I get very excited.

One day I heard that a big dog was coming. I couldn’t wait to meet him.

His name is Huntley. He’s three years old — a Great Pyrenees, one of those big white mountain dogs people sometimes call “gentle giants.”

Well… our first meeting did not go quite the way I imagined.

I crouched down to make myself look friendly — usually the first step when greeting a dog. Slowly, I tried to approach him.

Suddenly he lunged toward my face as if he wanted to bite.
Luckily I was ready and managed to move away just in time.

I tried again.
Same result.

The next time, I even brought some dog treats, hoping that might help… but it didn’t make much difference.

At that moment I realized something:
Becoming friends with Huntley might take some time.

So I became the person responsible for taking care of him.

Every day I spent time with him — feeding him, talking to him, gently trying to pet him, and taking him for walks.

Something slowly began to change.

Before long, the dog who once wanted nothing to do with me began to wag his tail a little when he saw me.

And now, if we haven’t seen each other for a few days, when I come back he runs toward me and jumps up to say hello — as if he’s asking,“Where have you been?”

Dogs are amazing that way.

Give them a little patience, a little kindness, and a little time…
and their whole heart opens.

Huntley certainly did. 🐾

- Venerable Charlie

Dear PEI,Today, I would like to share a small act of kindness with you.A few days ago, one of my classmates invited me t...
03/05/2026

Dear PEI,

Today, I would like to share a small act of kindness with you.

A few days ago, one of my classmates invited me to help make bread to donate to the local food bank, elementary schools, and community fridges. I said yes — even though it meant giving up my cherished evening prayer time. But I reflected on this: if our evening prayers are meant to wish that all beings be free from suffering, then turning our monastery’s care into freshly baked bread and placing it into the hands of our neighbours may be one of the truest expressions of that prayer.

This morning, on a cold winter day, a senior monk and I loaded 25 loaves of bread and several crates of dinner rolls — all made together by our monastic community — into the car. We delivered them to local schools, the food bank, and community fridges.

When I placed the bread inside the Murray Harbour Community Fridge, I paused for a moment.

There was no one standing there.
No one keeping records.
No one asking questions.

Only neighbours quietly leaving what they can, and others taking what they need.

Standing there in the snow, I realized I had seen this spirit before.

When I was a child in Taiwan, there was a large tree in front of our family home. Beneath it stood a simple pot of free drinking water — what we call Feng Cha. Anyone passing by could stop for a cup. No one watched. No one asked who you were. The water was simply there.

When my siblings and I played outside and grew thirsty, we would run to that tree for a drink.

Years have passed. The tree has since been trimmed, and the pot of water is no longer there. But this morning, beside a community fridge on a snowy PEI road, I felt that same quiet kindness again.

No recognition.
No reward.
Just the simple understanding that if someone is hungry or thirsty, we can help.

A cup of water can quench thirst.
A loaf of bread can ease hunger.
But more than that, both can carry love.

Today, as we delivered bread made by many caring hands, I silently hoped that those who receive it might feel not only nourishment, but warmth — the quiet reassurance that no one stands alone.

- Venerable Tony

This winter, I began to notice something quietly beautiful.During our class breaks, one of my classmates, Venerable Mar...
03/04/2026

This winter, I began to notice something quietly beautiful.

During our class breaks, one of my classmates, Venerable Marlon, would quietly disappear. No lingering in the hallway. No sitting on a chair reviewing what we had just learned. Just… gone.

One day, curiosity led me to follow him.

The snow was deep — thicker than usual this year — and the cold had been relentless. As I trailed behind him, I found Marlon carrying a small bucket filled with seeds, I realized where he was going: into the woods.

He later told me that he had been thinking about the birds who did not migrate south. With the ground frozen and buried under heavy snow, food would be hard to find. So without telling anyone, he built a small feeder and hung it among the trees. Since then, he has been refilling it regularly, hoping the birds would not go hungry.

A few days ago, after two straight days of heavy snowfall, most of us preferred to stay indoors. But Marlon was worried the feeder might be empty.

So during the short class break, he lifted his bucket of seeds and stepped slowly through the thick snow toward the woods. I followed quietly behind.

Before he even reached the trees, we could already hear them — the chickadees.

Their eager calls filled the cold air.

As soon as Marlon came closer, the little birds began to gather. He placed a handful of sunflower seeds in his palm and extended his hand gently.

One by one, the chickadees flew in.

They did not fight. They did not push. Each bird waited its turn, landing softly on his fingers, pecking at a seed, then lifting off to make space for the next.

Each photo you see captures a different bird. It is not that there is one especially “brave” chickadee — it is that Marlon has come so consistently, so quietly, that trust has grown.

In the beginning, he told me, they would not come near at all.
When he feeds them, he lowers his voice. He softens his movements. He steadies his body, speech, and mind, allowing himself to become as calm and non-threatening as possible.

After filling the feeder, he brushed aside the snow on the open ground and scattered extra seeds, making space so more birds could share without competing.

Standing there, watching the small birds feast joyfully in the snow, I saw that Marlon’s face carried the simplest and purest smile — the kind that comes not from being seen, but from quietly knowing that no being goes hungry.

— Venerable Allen

This morning, after donating freshly made bread to our local food bank, we noticed something before leaving. The flag ou...
02/26/2026

This morning, after donating freshly made bread to our local food bank, we noticed something before leaving. The flag out front was tangled and crumpled.

As we walked over to straighten it, the words on the fabric touched our hearts:

“EVERYONE is welcome here.”

It was a beautiful reminder that no matter who we are or where we come from, kindness and community know no boundaries.

We are deeply grateful to the Southern Kings & Queens Food Bank for their incredible work — and for sharing such a powerful message of inclusion.

Thank you for allowing us to be part of this mission. 🙏

That morning, as I made my way to the Main Hall for dawn prayers, I began my day as I always do—praying for peace and ha...
02/20/2026

That morning, as I made my way to the Main Hall for dawn prayers, I began my day as I always do—praying for peace and harmony for all.

But my heart carried a different weight this time. My thoughts kept returning to the tragedy in Tumbler Ridge.

I thought about those vibrant young students—the way they should be breathing the fresh air, running freely, and exploring new ideas in their classrooms. I thought about the simple joy of playing with friends and that beautiful spark of youth. They were at the age of dreaming, working toward a brighter future for themselves and for our country.

It breaks my heart that a sudden, senseless act took away their chance to chase those dreams. I know that here on Prince Edward Island, and right across Canada, millions of hearts are aching alongside mine.

As a Buddhist monk, I am dedicating the merit of my daily practice and every good deed to them. My deepest prayer is that they may be free from all fear and unrest, finding only stillness, safety, and peace.

Though I am thousands of miles away, I am holding them in my heart. I hope they can feel these sincere blessings reaching out to them through the silence.

— Venerable Leon

02/19/2026

As I stepped out of the monastery for our walking prayer the other day, a freezing gust of wind cut through my robes. I couldn’t help but shiver, my body instinctively tensing against the chill. But when I looked at the fellow brothers walking beside me, no one flinched. Their faces were solemn, their steps steady.

In that moment, I realized we weren‘t just walking against the wind; we were walking for Tumbler Ridge.

My heart aches for the lives so abruptly taken—the children who were just beginning their journey, the teacher who stood by them, and the families shattered by this tragedy. In the face of such darkness, the question always arises: As a monk, what more can I do?

As Buddhists, we believe that life is a journey that continues far beyond what we can see. To me, being a monk is more than a title; it is a profound commitment to carry a piece of the world’s suffering and respond with compassion rather than despair.

Though I never knew you, I offered every frozen step and every silent breath to you. I dedicated the merit of my practice to every soul lost in this tragedy.

May you rest in peace.
May you return to a world where you can grow up in safety, age with dignity, and live without fear.

If our paths cross in the future, I hope I can look you in the eye and say: I tried my best to make this world a little kinder, a little brighter.

— Venerable John

Silent Steps for Peace
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1HVsYCoyfC/

As Canada’s seven days of mourning came to an end,the monks in Prince Edward Island gathered for a final prayer service ...
02/17/2026

As Canada’s seven days of mourning came to an end,
the monks in Prince Edward Island gathered for a final prayer service and offering.

For seven days, the victims in Tumbler Ridge were remembered in our chanting.
The bell was struck at dawn and at dusk.
Steps were taken in silence.

On the final evening, flowers were placed in quiet tribute.
We bowed — not out of ritual alone, but out of sincerity.

For the children.
For the families.
For a nation learning to breathe through grief.

What happened in Tumbler Ridge wounded hearts across this country.
But violence does not have the final word.

Compassion remains —
stronger than fear.

From Prince Edward Island,
our prayers travel westward.

May those who have passed rest in peace.
May those who mourn be supported.
May this land continue to choose care over harm,
again and again.

PEACE • COMPASSION • FEARLESSNESS

02/17/2026

During these seven days, as Canada lowered its flags for the victims in Tumbler Ridge, the sound of the bell at a monastery here in Prince Edward Island has carried a different weight.

At dawn and again at dusk, the bell rings through the hall — steady, unbroken.

Each day, the monks have dedicated the bell chanting to those who lost their lives in the school shooting, and to the families who now carry an unbearable grief.

In Buddhist tradition, the bell is a sound meant to travel beyond walls.
An ancient verse says: may its sound reach far and wide,
may even the darkest places hear it.

For seven days, the bell has not been silent.

May those who have passed find peace.
May those who remain find strength.
May fear not take root in this land.

🕯️ Silent Steps for Peace 🕯️As Canada’s seven days of mourning came to a close,the monks in Prince Edward Islandwalked i...
02/16/2026

🕯️ Silent Steps for Peace 🕯️

As Canada’s seven days of mourning came to a close,
the monks in Prince Edward Island
walked in silence.

Not as a protest.
Not as a statement.
But as a prayer in motion.

Step by step,
we walked for the children.
We walked for the families.
We walked so that fear would not take root in this land.

As the flags rise again,
may compassion remain among us.

PEACE • COMPASSION • FEARLESSNESS

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Montague, PE

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