Saturday, January 15, 2011

Walk away

And in the end, your little table-rectangle of life, after the crowd has gone away, after the jokes are over.

What is the measure of our lives? What we own? What we contribute? The number of people who call to ask how we are? Who want to hear our stories? Who want us to be part of their lives?
Or is it just the weight of the bhikshu's begging bowl you bear after you finally learn to walk away?

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