Whatever comes to mind. Sometimes a story I read, sometimes something that came to me while holding my mala beads.
A couple of days ago I was flipping through an old book and came across a set of woodblock prints. Black and white, very simple. A person, an ox, ten pictures. I wasn't looking at the pictures anymore. I was looking at myself.
The Parable of the Prodigal Son in the Lotus Sutra tells of a lost child who wandered for fifty years, not knowing his father had been waiting all along. Reading this story, I realized that poor son was me.
Zen Master Hakuin was falsely accused of fathering a child. He didn't defend himself. He just said "Is that so?" — and these three words changed how I see blame and misunderstanding.