Whatever comes to mind. Sometimes a story I read, sometimes something that came to me while holding my mala beads.
A demon named Joy who ate other people's children to feed her own. The Buddha didn't fight her - he just let her feel that pain herself. A story about how wide our love can be.
Last night my mother called. She said it was nothing, she just wanted to hear my voice. After I hung up, turning the beads in my hand, I thought of a story from the Ksitigarbha Sutra — a daughter who sold everything she had, just to find out where her mother went.
Today I came across an old book with a dried bodhi leaf tucked between the pages. It reminded me of a story from 2,500 years ago—a mother who lost her child, and the Buddha who asked her to find a mustard seed from a home untouched by death.
Two women claim the same baby as their own. A wise king decrees: cut the child in half, each gets a piece. One woman lets go — true love is not possession, but sacrifice.