THE AIR FILLED WITH SWEET SADNESS

Some days, like the last few, I feel a sweet sort of sadness in the air. Some days I think it is only me—as if it is a feeling I own—not my neighbor’s or anyone else’s. Other days I think it is the feeling of the place here—a powerful emotion rising up from the earth itself. Today, I’m not sure what to attribute it to. I wish I could just let it go.

From our rainy deck behind the house, we overlook the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas, a large parcel of land about a mile away, tucked into the base of the mountains.

Knowing there are resident monks who meditate and chant in the city is a comfort and when I am feeling particularly down, I take my wife there for lunch in the vegetarian restaurant. Lately, we have become regular customers which, in a way, means things are not good in my head. Otherwise I wouldn’t need to go there to eat.

After lunch we walk over to the temple to meditate (and pray) beneath the ten thousand statues of Buddha. Doing this does ease the feeling of sadness somewhat. But then, driving out of the gates, where my world begins again, sad feeling greets me again as if it was waiting for me there.

The other day I wondered if the monks would rent us a house where we could live simply and cheaply; where it would be just a short walk to the temple or to the small restaurant.

After visiting the temple, we drove through the grounds where we saw some beautiful little cottages tucked among the trees. I thought the small stucco houses must stay cool during the hot summer months.

I noticed one house even had a surfboard leaning against the garage in back. Somehow, seeing the surfboard made me think that I could live there—that it was something possible even for a householder like me—a place to escape the sadness.