Firmness in Letting Go - Reflections from Kathina

The past three Sundays were all Kathina events: first at IIMC in Redmond, then at Wat Buddha in Turner, and today at LP Chalee Hermitage in Albany. Kathina is an annual Buddhist festival held at the end of the three-month rain retreat.

Growing up in a Theravada country, I must shamefully admit that I had never actually attended a Kathina, not until these past three weeks, in a country ten thousand miles away from my birthplace. Back then, when family or friends asked whether I wanted to donate, I would usually say yes, and that was it. I watched it on TV, heard about it from others, or read about it in books. That was my way of learning, from a distance.

That was the past.

Over the past three weeks, I have learned about the history of Kathina and its meaning. The Buddha awarded a group of monks new robes after they completed the rains retreat, replacing their worn-out robes. The word Kathina means firmness and stability, originally referring to the hard wooden frame used in sewing robes, but also to the firmness of those monks who stayed grounded through the long rainy season. It is a celebration of stability in practice, generosity, and community. The strength that comes from staying true to the path.

I also witnessed a beautiful tradition: monks marking a new robe with a small dot at the edge or corner. The act symbolizes restraint and the teaching on attachment. Robes are meant not for beautification or decoration but for protection from insects, from heat, from the elements. The mark serves as a reminder: even something new and beautiful is not to be clung to.

In my last blog, I wrote about restraint and love. This week, I asked myself: could I put a mark on my own new clothes? Honestly, probably not. I still attach to them because they are new. But once they are no longer new, I might. Perhaps a small dot on the hem or tag.

That tiny gesture can be a quiet reminder of both restraint and impermanence. A reflection that even what we once treasured will, in time, change and fade. Marking a cloth in this way is not about damaging it, but about softening attachment. When we can make that mark willingly, it becomes a moment of freedom — a simple letting go.

I don’t need to practice restraint in every part of life all at once. I can start with one small thing at a time.

A few nights ago, a good friend invited me for dinner. The food was wonderful, as always, and our conversation turned to a phrase I hadn’t heard before: “Die with zero.” At first, I didn’t understand. Now, maybe I do.

The Buddha said everything vanishes. Everything is impermanent. Whether a millionaire or an average person, we all leave this world with nothing. The millionaire might spend every penny and still, at the moment of death, has zero. Whether we spend it all or leave something behind, it returns to the same truth, impermanence.

The idea of “die with zero” stayed with me. The book encourages us to spend, to experience, to make the most of life before it ends since we never know when our time will come. There’s a truth in that: life is short, and each day is precious.

But in my heart, I feel a subtle difference. In Buddhism, the invitation is not to spend all we have, but to live fully without holding tightly. The middle way isn’t about accumulation or deprivation. It’s about awareness. To enjoy what we have while knowing it will pass. To give without counting. To live without clinging. To love without attachment.

Maybe “die with zero” is not about money at all. Maybe it’s about letting go, of things, of identities, of the illusion, that we can own anything permanently. When we see impermanence clearly, we can live with gratitude rather than fear.

So perhaps the teaching of the Kathina and the message of Die with Zero are not opposites after all. Both remind us to live consciously: one through generosity, firmness, stability, and restraint, the other through appreciation and presence. The robe itself, like everything else, wears out and fades. Maybe the paradox is this: true firmness is not in the fabric, but in the heart that understands impermanence.

In the end, it may not matter how much we spend or save, but how awake we are in the moments between.

If life is impermanent, what does it mean to live fully without clinging? Can I (we) find firmness in every act of letting go?

May we learn to live fully, give freely, and let go gently, with hearts that remain firm and stable, even as all things change.

New Robe at the Kathina event at LP Chalee Hermitage