Whatever comes to mind. Sometimes a story I read, sometimes something that came to me while holding my mala beads.
Behind that chubby, big-bellied, grinning Buddha at the temple entrance, there was a real person — a monk who carried a cloth bag and spent his life smiling. This is his story.
Su Dongpo thought he was enlightened and wrote a poem declaring "the eight winds cannot move me." Foyin replied with two words: "Bullshit." He immediately crossed the river to confront his friend. This ancient story feels like it's about me.
The Buddha starved for six years in the forest and nearly died. What pulled him back wasn't some profound truth — it was an ordinary woman's kindness and a bowl of hot porridge. Sujata wasn't a practitioner or a noblewoman, just a village woman by the river who handed him a bowl of milk rice.
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