Namu Amida Butsu — My Life is The Result and Effort of Others

If you look at a rose, Thich Nhat Hanh says, you will see that it is made entirely of non-rose elements. The soil, the rain, the sun, the gardener’s hands, the seasons, the bees—everything in the cosmos comes together to make the rose. The rose is not separate from these things. The rose is because of them.

And so it is with me.

There is no singular I. No independent self that stands alone, untouched. I am only made of non-I parts.

I am the people who have loved me and the people who have hurt me. The people who have shamed me and praised me. I am my mother’s words and my father’s silences. I am my ancestors’ prayers and their unresolved grief. I am the teachers who lifted me up and the ones who made me feel small. I am the kindness of strangers and the betrayals I never saw coming.

And so every moment I chant the word, “Namu Amida Butsu.” My life is the result and effort of others.

It is easy to thank the heroes—the ones who showed up, who nurtured, who gave. But what about the villains? The ones who wounded, abandoned, disappointed?

They, too, are the soil from which I grow.

All actions and people are in the soil that inspires and motivates me. The heartbreak that taught me resilience. The rejection that forced me to find my own worth. The loss that cracked me open to something greater than myself. The failures that stripped away my illusions and left me with truth.

I used to think I could shape myself alone. That my effort, my will, my ambition was enough. But when I sit quietly, I see the truth. I am here because of hands I will never shake, words I will never hear, imaginings and inventions I benefit from but didn’t ask for, sacrifices I will never know. My name is written in ink that is not my own.

And so, I bow.

I bow to the mother who did the best she could.
I bow to the friend and lover who walked away.
I bow to the stranger who said something nice when I needed it most.
I bow to the mentor who opened a door.
I bow to the ones who closed them.
I bow to the pain that became my teacher.
I bow to the love that reminds me who I am.

I bow to the no’s, maybe’s, and yes’.

Namu Amida Butsu.

There is no singular I. There is only this weaving chorus of seen and unseen forces that have made me, that continue to make me.