MANJUSHRI
Brian was dying. Well, at least he was trying to. He had taken
four aspirins
and saida very ardent prayer to Manjushri that he may be born into a better life, with nicerparents. He didn’t want to have to go through all this shit again, and he figured that ifanyone could help him, the Buddha of Wisdom should be able to. He was lying inbed, chanting mantras to himself, as slowly as possible so that the prayers wouldseep through his entire being at exactly the same time that the aspirin was shuttingdown his body. He hoped, as he lay flat on his back, in the most tragic position hecould hold, that the prayers would fill his entire being with holiness in his very lastmoments of living.He’d been driven to do this, he reasoned to himself,
forced
, in fact. He had nochoice. How could he live this kind of life that his parents were making him live? No.He couldn’t. And he would rather just end this one and start anew as quickly as hecould. He surrounded his bed and pillow with holy objects before he lay down in whathe hoped would be his last resting place . He thought it was very clever that he was“digging his own grave” and even smirked happily to himself at the brilliance of hisgrand idea. So he put Buddha statues all over his bed and pictures of every Buddhahe had ever heard of under, around, on top of his pillow. He also put Jesus andGanesha and Mother Mary around for good measure – he wouldn’t mind seeingthem in the white light, he told himself, they’d be very welcoming too.This last dramatic flourish was the culmination of a few very difficult weeks. Brianthought back over the weeks in one of those cinematic flashbacks, where the herosees his whole life flash before him in a series of vibrant technicolour images.
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