Kuan Yin Calling

One Sunday morning years ago, I was driving through a business district in Portland. Everything was closed, the street deserted. I drove past a store window full of Asian ceramics and furniture.

Let me pause here and tell you something about myself. I don’t like to shop. I never browse. And if I’m going somewhere, I rarely get sidetracked.

Okay, back to the story. As I drove past the store, I felt a sudden urge to go in. I dismissed it and continued on, mentally noting the location for future reference. But the urge grew more insistent, almost like a scene in a Western where the cowboy lassoes the girl or a bandit and reels them in. I shook it off, reminding myself that the store was no doubt closed and I had other things to do. I told myself I would come back another time.

Not good enough. The further I drove from the store, the more compelling the urge became until finally, feeling like a crazy person, I circled back and pulled up in front. Although there were no cars in sight, there were two people standing by the door. I rolled down the window and asked if the store was open. They said they had no idea; they were just passing by.

Feeling more foolish by the second, I parked and went to the door, which, amazingly, was unlocked. I walked in, and, seeing no one, called hello. A petite, elegant Chinese woman came out from the back, and in answer to my question, assured me that the store was open. She added that there were also things upstairs and downstairs. She invited me to look around and went back to whatever she was doing.

I have always been attracted to Asian art and decor, even before I lived in Bangkok. If you came to my home, you would see rugs from China and Nepal, tapestries from Burma, furniture from Thailand, and art from all over Asia. Several closets are full of paintings I have no wall space for in my small house. I had no room for more. Nevertheless, I did look around, appreciating the things I saw, wondering why was I there. I wandered aimlessly about, going upstairs to see the furniture displays, and then downstairs where things were haphazardly stacked and stored.

Having seen most everything, I started back upstairs to leave, still puzzled about what drew me there in the first place. Then I saw her, a statue of Kuan Yin, covered with dust, in the midst of piled up chairs and pillows, smiling serenely, unperturbed by her jumbled surroundings.

Her name is spelled many ways and there are many explanations of who she is, but most simply, she is identified as the goddess of mercy and compassion. Her name is sometimes translated as the one who hears the cries of the world. She is often depicted holding a vase containing the nectar of compassion which she pours out over the world to ease suffering.

Kuan Yin and I go way back. My history with her is too long to tell right now, but I think of her as my guardian angel. So there I was, in the basement of this store, facing this exquisitely beautiful (but huge!) bronze statue of Kuan Yin. Reminding myself of all my things I already didn’t have room for, I took one last look and turned to walk away....

She now sits on a sturdy wooden table in the corner of my living room. She is the first thing anyone sees when entering the front door. (She’s hard to miss!) I like to think she is blessing all who come, bringing peace to our troubled hearts, pouring her nectar of compassion over our spirits to ease our suffering.

So generous.