By Vipula Wanigasekera –

Dr. Vipula Wanigasekera

Continuing from my previous article, beyond the visible procession, the ceremonies, and even the criticisms, the Peace Walk revealed something far more fundamental. It quietly brought to the surface a practice that lies at the very heart of the Buddha’s teaching—one that, perhaps, has been gradually overshadowed in contemporary contexts.

At its most authentic moments, the Peace Walk was not about organisation, recognition, or ritual. It was about movement—monks walking towards people. In that simple act lies a profound truth about how the Dhamma was originally shared.

The Buddha did not remain in one place waiting for followers to arrive. He went in search of those who were ready to listen—and even those who did not yet realise they were searching. His discourses were not confined to monasteries; they unfolded under trees, along roads, in resting places, and within communities in their everyday settings. He spoke without distinction—across class, occupation, and status.

In this sense, the Peace Walk—particularly when monks paused to engage with ordinary people along the way—reflected a powerful, if unintended, return to that tradition. The act of blessing those encountered on the roadside, while not central to early Dhamma discourse in the form of dialogue and reflection, symbolised something equally important: accessibility. Ideally, this should encourage Sri Lankan monks to move beyond ritual and bring the Dhamma into deeper, lived reality.

It is here that the true value of the Peace Walk emerges—not as an event to be judged solely by its execution, but as a subtle reminder of an alternative path. A path where the monk moves towards society, not as a figure of authority, but as a presence of humility and guidance. A path where the Dhamma is lived rather than displayed.

This message becomes especially significant in light of recent incidents that have cast a shadow over sections of the Sangha. Reports of Sri Lankan monks being detained at airports with large quantities of drugs have understandably shaken public confidence. These are not merely isolated incidents; they contribute to a broader unease about discipline, purpose, and the evolving role of monastic life.

That said, for many, this deeper message of the Peace Walk went largely unnoticed. The event, at times, resembled a spectacle—similar to relic expositions—where crowds lost composure in their eagerness to offer flowers to leading monks or even to touch “Aloka,” the ceremonial dog. On one occasion, security personnel were compelled to carry the dog away for safety. On another occasion, Bhikkhu Paññākāra himself had to caution the crowd that unless the noise and shouting subsided, he would be unable to proceed. Such moments, while revealing devotion, also reflect how easily meaning can be overshadowed by emotion and display.

Ultimately, the Peace Walk has left behind more than impressions—it has left behind a question: are monks still walking towards the people, as they once did, or has the relationship reversed in ways that risk distancing the very essence of the teaching?

The answer to this question may well shape the future credibility of the Sangha and determine whether the Dhamma continues to be experienced as a living practice—or merely observed as tradition.

*The writer is a former diplomat, former Head of Tourism, and currently a lecturer, YouTuber, meditation teacher, and Reiki therapist