Siler City, NC – A line of Buddhist monks on a 2,300-mile pilgrimage to Washington, D.C., made an overnight stop on Wednesday evening at Jordan-Matthews High School, turning a Chatham County campus into a waypoint in a national journey. The “Walk for Peace,” which began at a Vietnamese Buddhist temple in Texas in late October, has drawn growing crowds—and millions of social-media followers—as the group moves north through the Carolinas, offering brief talks and simple rituals that emphasize forgiveness, mindfulness, and what the monks describe as peace that starts “inside,” not in politics.
At Jordan-Matthews, that message took a distinctly local shape: a guided meditation on forgiveness, candid advice to parents about rebuilding trust with their children, and a blunt assessment of how technology and constant multitasking can hollow out attention and amplify stress—especially for teenagers. The stop, highlighted by local media and school posts, is part of a larger route toward the nation’s capital where organizers say they plan to ask Congress to recognize Vesak, a Buddhist holiday honoring the Buddha’s birth and enlightenment, as a federal holiday.
A Peace Walk Through the South, One Community at a Time
The Walk for Peace has the kind of simplicity that’s easy to describe and harder to pull off: walk, day after day, at a meditative pace, depending on community support for meals and places to rest. On its official site, the group describes the journey as “2,300 Miles of Hope and Peace,” framing it as a “spiritual journey across America” meant to encourage non-harm, kindness, and mindful living.
The Associated Press reported that 19 Theravada Buddhist monks began the trek on Oct. 26, 2025, at the Huong Dao Vipassana Bhavana Center in Fort Worth, Texas, aiming to reach Washington, D.C., by mid-February 2026. Along the way, they have slept in tents, visited public squares and state capitals, and tried to keep the emphasis on connection rather than conversion.
Their leader, Venerable Bhikkhu Pannakara, told the AP that his hope is that when the walk ends, people they met will keep practicing mindfulness and “find peace.” He has also repeatedly emphasized forgiveness and healing as core themes.
The pilgrimage has not been risk-free. The AP reported that a traffic accident in November injured monks and led to one monk losing a leg, underscoring the vulnerability of the group as they travel along highways and rural roads.
The monks’ companion on the road—Aloka, a rescue dog—has become part mascot, part metaphor for the journey’s tone: gentle, persistent, and disarmingly ordinary. The official site features the dog as a “faithful companion,” and national accounts have described how crowds often react to Aloka and the monks with the kind of curiosity that can soften into conversation.
Jordan-Matthews as a Waypoint: A Campus Turned Gathering Place
Jordan-Matthews High School, in Siler City, served as an overnight rest stop for the monks, transforming the campus into a temporary hub for a community gathering. School-related social posts framed the visit as an honor and highlighted the symbolism of a school hosting a movement that centers young people and future generations.
The talk at Jordan-Matthews was practical—built around breath cues, personal reflection, and a repeated insistence that people can practice peace in small moments at home, in the car, and in the middle of conflict.
The monks offered a message that was both ancient in its method—breathing meditation—and contemporary in its targets: phones, distraction, and the urge to “fix” people instead of understanding them.
“Ask Them for Forgiveness”: A Ceremony of Repair
The talk at Jordan-Matthews begins with a guided forgiveness meditation that does not dodge pain. The speaker asks listeners to reflect on how often people “endured” one another, made one another cry, and left “tears and suffer.” Then comes a pivot toward repair:
“Now let us all ask them for forgiveness,” he says, inviting people to direct that request first toward loved ones and family members, then toward friends and coworkers, and finally inward—“forgiving ourselves.” The aim is not to erase wrongdoing, but to loosen the grip of it: “We are now forgiving ourselves and from now until the last moment of our life, we will not repeat that again… Let Happiness and peace begins with all of us.”
This approach—naming harm, then practicing release—mirrors what Pannakara has described in national coverage as the walk’s broader purpose: not to win arguments, but to cultivate conditions for peace in daily life.
The meditation’s structure makes it concrete: it is a sequence of acknowledgments, spoken intention, and repeated returning to the present moment. The speaker does not promise instant calm; he explicitly warns that practice takes time and patience, and that people will “fail over and over.” It treats peace as something you rehearse, not something you declare.
Parenting and the “Wall” Between Adults and Kids
After the opening meditation, the speaker pivots to a question that drew an audible response in the crowd: “How many of us that could not talk with our kids? How many of us that actually have built a wall in between us and our childrens?”
What follows is a critique of a common parental reflex—trying to fix a child through force of advice, correction, or control. “The more we do it,” he says, “the more they walk away from us.”
He argues that the relationship changes when parents approach children as friends—not in the sense of abandoning authority, but in the sense of changing tone and method: “We are not teaching but we are sharing our thoughts… as a friend. And that is when they will listen.”
The speaker makes a blunt claim that will resonate with many adults, even if they disagree with the “100%” certainty: kids are heavily shaped by peers and the outside world, and technology accelerates that pull. Whether the exact percentage holds, the lived experience is familiar.
The advice is not permissiveness. He urges parents to warn children about danger—“this way is dangerous, that way is safe”—but to stop short of forcing compliance. His logic is that when trouble comes, a child is more likely to return to a parent who has offered guidance without humiliation.
Rethinking Discipline: From Detention to Mindfulness
One of the most pointed sections of the talk is also one of the most practical. The speaker describes visiting a school where students who skipped class or broke rules were placed in detention—“lock them up”—and argues the result was predictable: embarrassment, more acting out, and little lasting change.
He describes proposing a different approach: move from a small, punitive room to a bigger space where students practice breathing and mindfulness before reflection. “When they practice it,” he says, “they can see their problem because that is when their mind is calm.” This is not a detailed program blueprint—there are no statistics, no implementation plan, no claim that meditation replaces consequences.
In the Jordan-Matthews crowd, the speaker tested that directly, asking students who could focus on studying to raise their hands. “Not even 10,” he observes, then adds, “this is normal… because nowadays society… is because of technology… we lose our memory and we not be able to focus.”
The speaker does not shame students for distraction; he frames it as a predictable outcome of modern life, then offers a tool—attention to breath—as a way to train focus back into the body.
“Your Lover Is Your Cell Phone”: Technology, Attention, and Stress
The talk’s most memorable line may be the one that makes teenagers laugh and adults wince: “You know who is your lover is? Your cell phone.”
The speaker’s point is that attachment—constant checking, constant stimulation—fractures attention and contributes to suffering. “We are not living with this present moment,” he says. “We live with the future and the past only.”
In his telling, the antidote is not demonizing technology but changing the relationship to it: “Use it when needed. When you don’t need it, don’t use it.” He even proposes a physical act—“lock her or him up and put in the drawer for a certain amount of time”—as a training method. Attention is a resource, and without training it, people become easier to manipulate—by algorithms, by impulses, by anger, by fear.
That framing echoes an idea circulating in online reading and note-sharing communities: reclaiming attention is often less about willpower and more about boundaries and single-tasking. Several studies have suggested limiting digital distractions with set times for checking phones and practicing “single-tasking” instead of multitasking.
Practice Over Inspiration: “Today Is Going to Be My Peaceful Day”
A striking element of the Jordan-Matthews message is how relentlessly it insists on follow-through. The speaker warns against the temptation to treat the monks’ visit as a one-time emotional high. “When we get to Washington DC and when we got home… and everything back to normal then that is a waste,” he says.
His prescription is almost disarmingly simple: every morning, write one sentence on paper—“Today is going to be my peaceful day”—and then live as if you mean it, doing “one thing at a time,” practicing mindfulness, and resisting multitasking.
The Bracelet as a Reminder, Not a Souvenir
As the gathering ended, volunteers organized distribution of “peace bracelets,” described in the talk as reminders—something you can look at later and remember the practice. The speaker stresses the point: it’s not a collectible, it’s a cue.
The Walk for Peace’s official FAQ similarly frames its “blessing cord” as a free gift “given personally” by monks to people they meet, not sold or shipped. It is meant to be a moment of connection.
Why a Jordan-Matthews School Stop Matters
On paper, a single overnight stop at a high school might seem like a small footnote in a 2,300-mile journey. But it offers a clear window into why the Walk for Peace has resonated beyond Buddhist communities.
First, it meets people where they are—literally. The monks prioritize connecting with people at each stop, often drawing crowds across ideological lines because the message is not a partisan argument but a human invitation.
Second, the content speaks directly to problems Americans recognize: fractured families, overstimulated kids, workplace distraction, chronic stress, and the sense that anger has become a default setting. The Jordan-Matthews talk doesn’t mention elections or policy; it targets the internal conditions that make conflict more likely.
Third, the setting—Jordan-Matthews High School—adds a generational layer. In the school environment, the talk becomes less about abstract “world peace” and more about student focus, parent-child trust, and the daily discipline of paying attention.
In that sense, a high school stop is not incidental. It is the point.
What Comes Next
For local residents who saw the gathering at Jordan-Matthews, the takeaway is less about whether one agrees with every claim in the talk and more about whether the moment becomes practice.
Here are some practical next steps, drawn directly from what the monks emphasize:
- Try the “one breath” method: breathe in, notice the breath; breathe out, notice the breath; when thoughts arise, acknowledge them and return.
- Single-task for 10 minutes: pick one homework assignment, one chore, one conversation—no multitasking.
- Create phone boundaries: set times when the phone is in a drawer, not in hand—“use it when needed,” not as default.
- If you’re a parent, change the opening move: start with listening and “sharing,” not “fixing,” especially when emotions are running hot.
- If you’re an educator, consider a reset ritual: brief breathing before high-stakes moments—tests, conflict mediation, or the start of class—to help students “come back” to the room.