“ The old monk stepped onto the porch of the monastery. It was a sunny day and the sun turned his aged brown skin into a brilliant golden yellow, showing the tattooed mark of the prayer on his wrist. He stooped as a bunch of kids came running across. They laughed and he blessed them “ serve others. Love all” as they went past. He walked slowly with the help of his stick to the congregation that awaited.

Young monks. A couple with a new born child. The old group of ladies who had been coming for years.

He chanted ‘om mane padme hum’ softly, so soft that everyone had to strain to hear him. “ do not be afraid. No not worry” as his old crusty palm went over the heads of the new born’s parents.

Then a junior monk held the bowl of holy water as the old servant of god took his broom and sprayed the water over the congregation.

Slowly he turned and walked back into the cool shadow of the monastery building.

“buddham sharnam gachami” was the soft imperceptible voice in his throat. 

He settled down on the red and gold sofa in the corner with his prayer beads.

He had been doing it for 60 years. Still the name of buddha brought a smile to his lips every day.

His long life flashed before his eyes – the endless prayers, meditation in the forest, teachings from a great many learned monks, the monastery he built at the foothills of the mountains in northern Thailand.

It was a life well lived.

Suddenly he felt himself a bit lighter. Floating. As he looked he could see the red and gold sofa. There was a crowd gathering around it.

He smiled as he lifted into the clouds. 

He realized suddenly what had happened.

A journey had ended. Another began.

I looked down at my wrist noticing the faint sign of the tattoo mark that had faded many centuries ago. I knew where I had been. I knew where I needed to go.

Serve others. Love all.

Do not worry. 

Do not be afraid.”