People gather tentatively. What is this book, with the word Murder so prominently displayed on its cover? Is this book the author's life or Thich Nhat Hanh's life story, or what? Some seem to walk in the room sideways, crab-wise. Others come straight and forthrightly to display their knowledge of forgiveness. But most come wonderingly, wanting to know if a piece that has been missing for them will be given -- by someone here, by something read or spoken. Sometimes this happens. People identify. They cry. They overlay their own stories on mine, and a strong and immediate connection is made. Some are shy. They run deep, but are not showing all their cards. They sit near the back, say nothing, absorb much.
We sit together in silence, to begin. I give out my "fortune cookie fortunes," and people say they have received just what they needed to hear, almost invariably. I read for a short while. We talk.
A reading and book-signing is a study in human nature. These are my readers. Who are they? Who do they think I am? We are all really nobodies, empty of a separate self. And in this wonderful hour or two, our lives intertwine physically, viscerally. She who wishes to forgive sees the possibility of letting go. And I receive the marvelous stories of all who wish to share them. We form a small Sangha, a spiritual community, and we inter-are.
We sit together in silence, to begin. I give out my "fortune cookie fortunes," and people say they have received just what they needed to hear, almost invariably. I read for a short while. We talk.
A reading and book-signing is a study in human nature. These are my readers. Who are they? Who do they think I am? We are all really nobodies, empty of a separate self. And in this wonderful hour or two, our lives intertwine physically, viscerally. She who wishes to forgive sees the possibility of letting go. And I receive the marvelous stories of all who wish to share them. We form a small Sangha, a spiritual community, and we inter-are.
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