Bodhisattva Antidepressant

On days like these, my

mind easily feigns that Your 

Breath is just the wind.

Image by Donald Macauley

Today's windy weather reminds me of the Buddhist bodhisattva Avalokitesvara.  This bodhisattva embraces the compassion of all buddhas.  Dependant on the culture and tradition, Avalokitesvara is depicted as a male or female and may have a slightly different spelling of the name. When we break her name down we find these Sanskrit words and their meanings:

• AVA - a prefix, this means down
• LOKITE or LOKITA - to notice, look, or observe
• SVARA or ISARVA - authority, leader, powerful

What I love about Avalokitesvara is that she embraces the compassion of all buddhas.  As a bodhisattva she is enlightened and entitled to Nirvana, but instead she has chosen to stay "of the earth" to offer her compassion to all sentient beings on their worldly journey to enlightenment.

Avalokitesvaara especially understands that we are in need of compassion when we are hurt and suffering, regardless if the pain and suffering is caused by external or internal assaults to our bodies, minds and spirits.  I once heard a master say that the Earth's winds are really Avalokitesvara breath.  When we feel air moving around us - drying our tears or teasing our hair - we are gently kissed by her presence.

I feel that today she has grown weary of using gentle whispers to encourage us.  There is nothing soothing or gentle about today's winds - even the trees quake and bow as she comes by. All day long her annoying presence keeps my attention. "Perhaps," I imagine her thinking, "if I am stronger and pushier they will not fall asleep, but will instead move more quickly toward their full awakening,"      

"Don't count on it, Avalokitesvara," I mummer as I pull the blanket close around my neck and turn from the window she begs to come through.  "Don't count on it," I repeat in mantra as I fall back to sleep.  I dream the master who taught me was wrong - Avalokitesvara is not the wind.  Avalokitesvara is the compassionate room where I spend so many nights, and increasingly, more days.  Her belly is my soft, yielding bed, her hair my twisted blankets that hold me.  

The wind is just wind.

No metaphor for gentle

kisses.  Just the wind.