Vietnamese Thiền feels less like a strict monastic code and more like an open invitation to weave meditation into daily life. At first glance, its roots trace back to Chinese Chan, yet over centuries it’s sprouted local colors: Pure Land chants rising alongside silent sitting, village spirit rituals blending with koan-style inquiry.

Rather than choosing between sitting in zazen for hours (à la Japanese Soto) or wrestling with koans in Rinzai style, many Thiền practitioners also recite Amitābha’s name—“Nam Mô A Di Đà Phật”—hoping to cultivate both insight and faith at once. This “dual approach” is akin to having two oars in a boat: one guides direct awareness, the other steadies the journey with devotional warmth.

Another hallmark is the seamless fusion with indigenous beliefs. Ancestor altars don’t feel out of place next to meditation cushions, and village festivals at Perfume Pagoda or Bái Đính Pagoda often feature chanting sessions alongside spirit offerings. This folk layer keeps Thiền grounded, reminding everyone that liberation isn’t just a personal quest—it’s woven into community life.

Rituals here tend to favor vernacular chanting and easy-to-follow liturgies, rather than the stylized forms imported from Japan. Even temple architecture—open courtyards, gentle ponds, banyan trees shading meditation halls—encourages a less formal, more welcoming atmosphere.

In the era of Thích Nhất Hạnh’s “engaged Buddhism,” Thiền has embraced social action wholeheartedly. From coastal clean-ups in Đà Nẵng to mindfulness workshops in Ho Chi Minh City tech hubs, the practice is as much about healing the collective heart as about sitting still.

Watching a young teacher lead a mixed-age group through walking meditation by the Perfume River, it’s clear that Vietnamese Zen isn’t confined to monastic walls. It adapts, blends, and dances with life’s everyday rhythms—making it feel like a living tapestry rather than a relic on a shrine.