The statue sits, as I imagine the Buddha did, in quiet strength. Unassuming. His fingertips appear to almost dangle from where his hand rests on his knee. I grasp at other details but am unable to see them. My awareness shifts and I realize I am in my bed in San Francisco. The only remnant of my dream that I am left with is of the Buddha. 

The Barkhor Kora is abuzz; it feels almost heady. The circuit around the Jokhang Temple is the final stop for the many Tibetan pilgrims who come to pay homage to the Live Buddha, believed to be the oldest Buddha, that is housed in the first Buddhist temple in Tibet. People come from all over Tibet, many traveling in prostrations – a journey that takes from eight months to two years – often with the elder family members carrying their provisions. The whole family traveling together to pay homage to this great 7th century temple. I see two young men, likely no more than 18, as we drive the dusty road towards the temple in our tour van. They are prostrating along the side of the road. I notice that the taller of the two only has part of his right leg, amputated just above the knee. A couple stop their car to give them bottles of water.

Once they arrive at the temple, the pilgrims continue on around the temple three times in a clockwise direction before they enter. A market of vendors and others who come to pray at the temple make up a rich mix of sounds, colors, and smells. The variety of goods is remarkable. From rice cookers to art to clothing. Prepared foods and grocery like staples. beautiful woven fabric. Smoke billows from the large incense burners that remind me of backyard pizza ovens. People toss bundles of incense into these large amber burning collection of prayers. 

My friend and I linger here and there. It is our third time around and we are beginning to plan the rest of the afternoon before dinner. Do we have time to go back to the hotel before dinner, we wonder? I’m drawn in to a stall on the backside of the temple wall. It is more of a cart than a stall. A man casually leans on the corner of his cart. He is arranging the many, overcrowded trinkets on display. There are too many for them all to be seen; they are piled on top of each other. It seemed haphazard but now I can see it is far more deliberate than I initially understood. He picks up a small Buddha, no larger than the size of a strawberry and shows it to me. It is in this motion that my attention is drawn to the much larger Buddha statue sitting just behind his hand. The man’s fingers look leathery and worn; the signs of a lifetime of work. Just looking at this Buddha gives me a sense of déjà vu. And then it dawns on me that I have seen this Buddha before, in the dream I had a few months ago. I recognize the deep maroon velvety fabric that it rests upon. I point at it and he pulls out his little pocket calculator to begin the barter. I look in my purse and instantly feel deflated.

I am embarrassed by how little money I have with me to barter for this statue. I don’t even want to say what I can offer for fear of embarrassing myself and offending him. I punch the tiny buttons and show him a price. He shakes his head and counters. I ask my friend if I can borrow some Renminbi from her but she too has already spent her cash on other things so she doesn’t have much to contribute. I type the highest amount I can offer – the meager combination of mine and hers. He shakes his head again. I give an apologetic bow and we begin to walk away. I return the cash to my friend with gratitude and we tune back into our surroundings and carry on. My disappointment is palpable and I try to shake it off. 

A commotion begins to build behind us. As it reaches a fever pitch it causes us to turn around to see what’s going on. The man is holding the Buddha high in the air above his head and he has a crowd of people around him. They are all shouting and clapping. The man on his right carries a piece of fabric, the man on his left a cloth bag. As if a choreographed dance, the Buddha swoops down, is wrapped in the protective fabric, placed in the bag, and presented to me. I blink several times trying to comprehend what is going on. The man has decided to take my final offer. “Whatever it is, it must be special!” I hear someone say. It is another traveler in my tour group who has just watched this exchange. I scramble to pull together all the promised cash. The crowd is almost dancing with their excited clapping parade and as they recede back into the crowd I notice we all are smiling. 

This “earth witness” posture represents the moment that the Buddha became enlightened and the earth bearing witness to it. It is believed to help us transform anger to wisdom. All these years later, I still marvel about how this important lesson presented itself to me.