Affinities, and love, can span many lifetimes.

One morning, on a spring day in 2004, I opened my window blinds, sat down at my desk, and glanced out at the lawn and beyond. I saw a tiny bunny, several yards away, hovering over the body of a larger rabbit. Apparently, this rabbit had died in a slight indentation in the lawn. Throughout the day, I saw the young bunny race back and forth across the grass, chasing away a large bird that was trying to get at the dead rabbit. When not chasing the bird, the bunny bit off mouthfuls of the tall grass, returned to the rabbit, and placed the grass over the body. The process took considerable time, for the bunny also had to keep chasing off the bird. It was still trying to fend off the bird when I shut my window blinds that evening. 

On another morning, this one in the spring of 2005, I saw a grown rabbit hop straight to where the other rabbit had been buried. The rabbit rearranged what remained of the still discernible mound of grass and then hopped back the way it had come from around the side of the building. I did not see the rabbit in 2006 or 2007 as I was working in another room.  

Then in 2008, late one Monday night, I returned to the US after two months in Australia. The next day was my first morning in about eighteen months to work at my old spot in front of the window. The thick grass outside the window was due for the weekly cutting. But I could still see the spot where the rabbit had died for the grass had yet to fully cover the “burial mound.” As I watched, I saw a rabbit come around from the side of the building and go straight to the spot. It remained there for a few seconds and hopped a few feet away. Then it went straight back to the spot, rearranged some of the dead grass, paused a few seconds, and returned the way it had come from around the side of the building. 

Affinities span many lifetimes. They do not involve just human beings. And just as humans can be filial children and seek to repay kindness and love, other creatures can as well.

Fill the silence—with silence.  

Years ago, I avidly devoured Tony Hillerman’s Jim Chee mysteries. I remember a story about an experienced policeman saying that when he questions suspects, he will just remain quiet. Unable to take the silence, most would start talking. And what the police needed to learn would soon be divulged.

How embarrassingly true! What is it about silence that so many people find so uncomfortable?

It’s as bad as putting a compulsively neat person in a messy room with “Don’t Touch Anything” signs. The room will surely be organized soon enough.

Likewise, a compulsive talker just needs to do his thing: fill the room with audio clutter. Just because someone else isn’t talking is not a license for us to fill the airwaves with whatever comes to mind. Does the other person really want to hear about our childhood, past relationships, health status? We may deem them important or interesting.

But most likely, they’re not really worth broadcasting to one and all.

“Take the elevator, it’s much quicker.” 

Imagine you’ve left your small village to see the world. Exhausted after days of walking, you see an incredibly high building on the horizon. In awe, you finally reach it and are greeted by a kind gentleman who offers you much needed food and water.

“What’s at the top of the building?” He replies that it is a glorious place, for it has none of the sufferings your land does. He invites you to move in.

“How?” you ask. He explains there are stairs, but they take a very long time. Pointing to a door, he says that the elevator will instead whisk you to the top. The stairs look safe to you, but what about his “magical elevator?”

You wonder, What if it doesn’t work as promised? Wouldn’t the stairs be safer?

Some Pure Land newcomers face this predicament because they doubt quick fixes. But sometimes, we need to trust those who have already helped us greatly. Questioning the efficacy of the Pure Land method will result in not only our continued suffering but also the suffering of those back home whom we wish to help.