Welcome to living a life of gratitude.
I'm Sarah Wiseman.
Three Buddhas.
Three Buddhas sit on my desk arranged in a view I find most pleasing.
The medium one sits in lotus on the left,
The thicker burly one sits in the middle,
The thin one settles on my right.
Each is hand-carved of teak carefully burnished to a rich reddish bronze so that the light catches their features,
The shape of their three noses,
The way their eyelids are lost in meditation,
The drape of their robe,
And the way their hands are clasped in mudra.
I came across the Buddhas at a small gift store in Kauai adjacent from an old stone church,
Christ Memorial Christian.
The cemetery beside the church has grave sites dating back more than a hundred years and many of the headstones carved in lava rock have since disintegrated so badly that they are unreadable,
A pile of porous stone threatening to crumble at any moment.
Young palm trees scatter throughout the cemetery,
New beings rising from the old.
The sun is hot and strong and down the road the Kilauea bakery is putting out new muffins alongside the tiny scattering of shops in which my Buddhas were found.
My Buddhas,
Medium,
Thick,
And thin,
Did not come from Hawaii.
They were imported from Bali where on one day not too long ago someone carved them by hand one after another.
Each is unique and I imagine the carver sitting on a straw mat with a straw hat to shade from the sun carving the faces of people he already knew,
Friends,
Family,
Those who had gone before.
I think this because each of my Buddhas is so unique.
The one with medium body has a flat wide nose and a generous mouth.
The one that is thick and sturdy has a big nose,
Long face,
Enormous ears.
The one that is thin has a thin nose,
Large almond eyes,
And a thin mouth.
I imagine the carver laughing as he shows his friends and family members his creations.
Look,
This Buddha is you,
He says to his high school buddy.
Look,
This Buddha is you,
He says to his mom.
Look,
This Buddha is grandpa,
He tells his family as they all remember their departed ancestor with pleasure.
He carves the faces of his friends and family into Buddhas and then sends them to different countries where an unknown person will place them on her desk and look at them each day as she is writing.
Even as I type this sentence I am looking at the faces of someone's friends or loved ones.
I am looking at the faces of Buddha.
I realize that Buddha is the face of everyone with every kind of eyes and nose and mouth and ear shape.
Everyone is Buddha,
All of us.
Buddha,
Jesus,
God,
One,
All,
Divine,
This is all around you.
This is also you.
And this is in every person you will come across today.
Know this as you greet this person,
Interact.
Know this as you argue and disagree.
Know this as you hold compassion and as you love.
All Buddha,
All the time,
With many,
Many faces.
