Rain came in the afternoon, soft and obscuring — the kind that reduces the world to just the room you’re in.
I closed the door, lit some incense, and opened a sutra. Outside, lotus leaves bent under the weight of raindrops, then slowly straightened again. They don’t resist the rain. They simply receive it, and return.
People are less graceful. We carry our attachments and anxieties even on clear days. The weight accumulates. The leaves remind me: receive what comes, then let it pass.
In the distance, mountains disappeared into mist.
— Vô Thường