20 Years and Buddha's Mustard Seeds

 

 

Today, my dear child, marks the 20^th year since you left us and left yourself in us for ever. In my moments of solitude, I hear and see you. When I go through photos I have taken 30 years ago, I always take respite to see you grow, a frame at a time. For your 12 years with life, you were my favorite model.

Today, I recalled a moment from a couple of months after you left.

I had to be in Taipei at the National Taiwan University for academic work. A colleague of mine met me at the airport and we had tea together. She said “you are still in mourning, and I can say nothing to heal your heart. But I wonder if you know the Buddhist parable about the mustard seed.”

I did not.

So, she told me the story of a young woman meeting Buddha after her young son dies. She could not accept the death of her beloved child, and she held tight her dead son refusing to proceed with the funeral.

An old man from the village took pity on her and told her to go to Buddha. “May be he can help you,” he said.

So, the woman goes to Buddha and holding her child, asks him to bring her boy back to life.

“You know all the medicines,” she said, “can you make one to bring my child back to life?”

After a long pause, Buddha said:

“I can make such medicine, but I need a special ingredient.”

“I will find that ingredient,” the woman said, “just tell me and I will go around the world to find it.”

And Buddha said:

“Bring me a handful of mustard seeds, but not any mustard seeds – you have to get them from a household where no child, spouse, parent, sibling, or servant has died.

And the woman went to every household in and outside the village. Everyone one was ready to give her mustard seeds, until she asked if anyone had lost a child, a sibling, a parent, a spouse or a servant.

She could not find a household where death had not taken a toll.

So, she buried her son, and went back to Buddha.

And Buddha said:

You thought that you alone had lost a child. But the law of death is that among all living creatures there is no permanence.”

…This morning, 20 years later I thought about that parable - my mind understands the message. But I have not reached nirvana to be at peace.

I hope you are.

 

And, as I sat down to write, I looked at a photo I took when you were 9 years old. It is a framed moment when you, your twin brother and Pita our dog posed for the shot. Pita was exactly the same age as Greg and you, so we used to say that we had triplets.

… As the woman in the parable found a resting place for her boy, we found one for you too.

And, I cannot end my note to you without remembering those hazel eyes that held so much promise:

 

Even when captured in Black and White:

 

There is no permanence, except for the memory of you and how you touched all on your path.

 

July 18, 2025

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2025