"There is a story about two warriors associated with the weeping Buddha. The warriors often faced each other during several battles. Both the warriors used masks as part of their costumes as a result of which they couldn’t see their opponent’s face. Following several such confrontations, the older warrior triumphed over the younger warrior. The younger warrior was killed. When the older warrior took off his mask, he realized that he had killed was his own lost son. Seeing this, the older warrior – who is none other than the weeping Buddha – began to cry.
"It is believed that the weeping Buddha takes away the grief and troubles of the world. In return, he bestows peace and provides strength to those who rub his back."
I am not actually sure where that paragraph came from. It was sent to me by my curmudgeonly opinions editor via email, after he bestowed upon me this awesome and inexplicable statue for our office Secret Santa gift exchange.
Like so many mass emails about angels, written by the anonymous poets among us, I am assuming the text is historically, religiously and grammatically correct, and, as many technologically challenged aunts have assumed in opening their inboxes, meant for me.
As is the Buddha.
I find myself, as I descend ever more into my loopy, dog-lady, tarot reading middle age -- just one existential crisis before decking myself out in jangly bracelets -- believing in, and relying on, the power of objects, moments, places, things that carry weight beyond their usefulness.
I am not sure why that's important. But I am sure that it is.
I think things find you, or me, for a reason.
Beyond that, they provide a soothing outlet for the things in your (my) brain that smash around and muddle things.
The bestower of this gift is not one I would associate with the Buddha. He's best known for his Christmas columns, and the World of War Craft, and the weekly editorials grumbling about issues we have hyped on our front pages, and will forget for the next week's fling with public corruption or incompetence.
When I first arrived on island he was writing a series about a near-death brush with complications from diabetes, and his herculean efforts to win back his health after years of neglect.
The series was candid, and was more useful than any of the other generic weight-loss stories I, and others, have written.
Most recently he has become the arbiter of online updates, in which we convey important breaking news such as the next meeting of the utilities commission or the response to a response to bill or other political hijinks initiated by the people running things.
And he gave me a Buddha that is full of enough energy that requires me to keep it in a similarly awesome woven square box.
And I'm in love with it.
So he is now equally awesome (until he makes me rewrite a press release about the next middle school musical).
My point is I think this is my way of saying thank you to him, the universe, whatever compels people to be surprising and nice, and all that.
And also I have power rocks. Not that that's related at all.
I am not sure why that's important. But I am sure that it is.
I think things find you, or me, for a reason.
Beyond that, they provide a soothing outlet for the things in your (my) brain that smash around and muddle things.
The bestower of this gift is not one I would associate with the Buddha. He's best known for his Christmas columns, and the World of War Craft, and the weekly editorials grumbling about issues we have hyped on our front pages, and will forget for the next week's fling with public corruption or incompetence.
When I first arrived on island he was writing a series about a near-death brush with complications from diabetes, and his herculean efforts to win back his health after years of neglect.
The series was candid, and was more useful than any of the other generic weight-loss stories I, and others, have written.
Most recently he has become the arbiter of online updates, in which we convey important breaking news such as the next meeting of the utilities commission or the response to a response to bill or other political hijinks initiated by the people running things.
And he gave me a Buddha that is full of enough energy that requires me to keep it in a similarly awesome woven square box.
And I'm in love with it.
So he is now equally awesome (until he makes me rewrite a press release about the next middle school musical).
My point is I think this is my way of saying thank you to him, the universe, whatever compels people to be surprising and nice, and all that.
And also I have power rocks. Not that that's related at all.
