Lost.

She looked up at the twenty-five-foot statue of the Bodhisattva, and squinted to withstand the sun's blinding rays. Marble white, and gleaming radiantly in the sun, the folds of the Bodhisattva's long beautiful dress seemed as though it had been flowing in a soft breeze before it was carved out of existence, into a three-dimensional snapshot. The girl smiled and knelt down, as the incense burning in her hands filled the summer air. She said a quick prayer.

"Nam mo dai bi Quan The Am Bo Tat. I am Tran Ky Ly, 12 years old, born under the serpent star. Oh enlightened bodhisattva, please grant me vision, health, and piety. Nam mo dai bi Quan The Am Bo Tat."

She stood up and placed the three incense sticks into the ash jar. And bowed three times.

She lingered in the garden of mercy, as she often did those days, in quiet and reflective thought. She asked herself if the prayer beads on her wrist, and if the buddha hanging around her neck actually contributed to her successes, her safety, and the decisions she made in life. She wondered if she would be beautiful and rich in her next life if she were moral and compassionate in this one. Was it okay to live morally only to expect a reward at the end of the road or the beginning of the next? Was religion a cheat sheet to salvation?

Walking along the flower beds, she heard the distant chant of monks and disciples, and the reverberating sound of gongs. She smiled. What a beautiful sound.
They say if you listen carefully to life -- anything in life, the river's pulsing waves, the leaves of a tree on a brisk Spring day, or the beating of a hummingbird's wings -- they say that you can hear the beautiful sound of OUM.
OUM.
O stands for the Creator. U for the Preserver. And M for the Destroyer.
Like all things in life, created, preserved, and destroyed.

OUM.
Ohm.
Ommmmm.

She read about it in a book once. She tried to listen for it now, in the sound of the rhythmic chanting, of the undulating sounds of the bells and gongs, but heard nothing. Still, it was beautiful. The garden, the gently smiling statue, the soft sunshine on the water lilies, the birds chattering excitedly in the trees. She didn't hear OUM, but she thought the moment was profound nonetheless.


Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe truth itself was transient.

Facebook

It would appear that Facebook no longer desires my presence amongst its pages. My account has been disabled. )= Why, you ask. Because, in my delirium, it would appear that I have become abusive and have not been treating my friends well. I cannot say that I recall committing any of the heinous acts Facebook claims I've done, but I must have done something to warrant such harsh behavior.

Or perhaps I have been framed.

Flowers. Again.

Um. I really like flowers.

The end.

Observation:

Only 2 posts for the month of July! O inspiration! It comes and goes as it fancies. I wish it weren't so fickle. Goodness, if ever there were anything so elusive! I should hope no one is made prisoner to such a tyrant upon the nerves, as I have been, lest they be driven absolutely mad trying to keep up with its demands whilst their own needs are so oft neglected. Oh, but I shan't get too carried away. As it were, I must be proper if I am to entertain the thought of any kindness from the old master for the month of August.

Observation:

My hair has grown too long.