They flew by like flashcards flipping.
My friend asked me to write an autobiography.
I took him seriously.
When I picked up the pen
And began writing the first page
There was a long silence that lasted for three days.
Finally, three words came out:
My cat told me she had the same problems writing her own autobiography.
Is this what the Buddhists call emptiness?
I am not a hero who saves the world.
I am not a merchant who amasses an abundance of wealth.
I would never be a powerful man who builds a great monument.
This morning I moved a slug from the road so she can live another day.
No one noticed it
A simple act that washed my heart with waves of joy.
This afternoon I picked up a glass of wine
While listening to my neighbor’s floppy-haired teenager playing the saxophone,
Hoping to become
A famous jazz man.
I’m just like the apple tree in my backyard…
Yet there is simplicity, beauty and mystery within.
It draws millions of gazes from everywhere.
The sun comes everyday to look at it
The sea of stars comes every night
To peek at it.
(by Anam Thubten)