If they hadn’t torn down another beautiful home in my neighborhood, I never would have seen her. Beyond the rubble and construction equipment, nestled in the plants at the back corner of the garden, she serenely sat. I asked the construction crew if she was left behind. When they answered in the affirmative, I ran around the corner to get my car. Five minutes later the lady buddha was in my boot.
Initially, every time I popped the trunk, I was startled. Then I stopped opening the trunk, instead using the backseat for groceries and other things I had to cart around. For weeks I would hear her thudding about when I took a corner too fast or had to come to a quick stop.
No longer sure I wanted her—she wasn’t in great shape—I googled how to dispose of a buddha statue. I was advised by a nun friend that putting her out with the bulk trash was not a good idea. She asked the caretaker of the park near work if we could take her into the woods. No, it was national parkland and therefore religious objects were not allowed. Our fate was sealed.
One quiet Saturday, I carefully lifted her out of the trunk and carried her to the backyard where I brushed the debris from her, bits of her falling off with it as I did. I washed her with warm soapy water, some of her stains impossible to remove. I rinsed her with the hose and left her to dry in the sun and began to make plans.
I found a lovely spot on a table under the pergola. I texted a friend and asked if she was still interested in burning some of her old journals and told her I was planning on lighting up some of mine.
The journals had been a weight on my psyche for a long time. Filled with laments and heartache, a litany of bad habits and promises to reform, I worried about dying before I had a chance to dispose of them.
We had a little dinner; night started to fall. The grill beckoned, an aluminum pan ready on the racks, matches at hand. We stood side by side and pulled apart our journals feeding pages to the flames, the broken pieces of our lives going up in smoke, a beautiful wounded buddha keeping vigil.
Divine Ready 
“A beautiful wounded buddha keeping vigil” – that closing phrase literally made me gasp and tears filled my eyes. What a powerful image, you and your friend burning pages detailing loss and regret, and the wounded buddha beside you. That’s an amazing image. This is an absolutely lovely essay. As is often the case with your writing, I didn’t know where the story was leading me, and then you pulled it all together with one of the greatest closing lines I’ve ever read.
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Loved this entire piece. So beautifully and descriptively written, as always. I actually got a bit emotional at that last paragraph that was so eloquently and poignantly written. Thanks, Jan, for capturing precious memories in words. Brilliant.
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