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Thich Nhat Hanh explains the origins of the poem, Call Me by My True Names, in his book, Peace is Every Step: The Path of Midfulness in Everyday Life. After receiving one of hundreds of letters from refugee camps, he came across one “about a young girl on a small boat who was raped by a Thai pirate. She was only twelve, and she jumped into the ocean and drowned herself.”

Explore Thich Nhat Hanh’s thoughts on “Reverence for Life, True Happiness, True Love, Loving Speech + Deep Listening, Nourishment + Healing (or, The Five Mindfulness Trainings)” from Truth Bomb Trails.

The poem shares the teaching of “interbeing,” the combination of the prefix “inter-” with the verb “to be.” Thay (“teacher”) continues:

When you first learn of something like that, you get angry at the pirate. You naturally take the side of the girl. As you look more deeply you will see it differently. If you take the side of the little girl, then it is easy. You only have to take a gun and shoot the pirate. But we cannot do that. In my meditation I saw that if I had been born in the village of the pirate and raised in the same conditions as he was, there is a great likelihood that I would become a pirate. I saw that many babies are born along the Gulf of Siam, hundreds every day, and if we educators, social workers, politicians, and others do not do something about the situation, in twenty-five years a number of them will become sea pirates. That is certain. If you or I were born today in those fishing villages, we may become sea pirates in twenty-five years. If you take a gun and shoot the pirate, all of us are to some extent responsible for this state of affairs.

After a long meditation, I wrote this poem. In it, there are three people: the twelve-year-old girl, the pirate, and me. Can we look at each other and recognize ourselves in each other? The title of the poem is “Please Call Me by My True Names,” because I have so many names. When I hear one of the of these names, I have to say, “Yes.”

Don’t say that I will depart tomorrow
even today I am still arriving.
Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that is alive.

I am a mayfly
metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.
I am the frog
swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.
I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself in the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate,
I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands,
and I am the man
who has to pay his “debt of blood,” to my people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.
My joy is like spring,
so warm it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

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