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The Lotus Sutra was originally composed in Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit. A bit of context: • Original language: Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit (a literary form blending classical Sanskrit with Middle Indo-Aryan elements) • Date of composition: roughly between the 1st century BCE and 2nd century CE • Transmission: The Sanskrit originals were later translated into Chinese, Tibetan, and other languages. For Nichiren Buddhism, the most important version is the Chinese translation by Kumarajiva (5th century CE), which strongly shaped East Asian interpretations and practice.
The Buddha sat in the middle of the room as if he had been waiting for the room to arrive. Flowers climbed the walls without asking permission. They were pink, excessive, and clearly from a different social class than the furniture.
A man entered, removed his hat, put it back on, then apologized to the Buddha for the confusion. The Buddha did not respond, which the man took as approval.
“Everyone says you’re calm,” the man said. “But they say the same thing about closed shops.”
The Buddha held a small object—something between a flower and a mechanical part. It looked expensive but useless. The man leaned closer, hoping it was a key.
Across town, a tram conductor suddenly decided not to collect tickets anymore. “What’s the point,” he said, “if we’re all going to the same stop.” This caused three arguments, one minor philosophical crisis, and a small but dignified nap.
Back in the room, the man sat down uninvited. His knees cracked like poorly written sentences. He told the Buddha about his life: jobs that vanished, friends who improved just enough to be unbearable, books he never finished but defended passionately.
The Buddha listened the way statues listen—thoroughly and without interest.
“I once tried to improve myself,” the man added. “It didn’t take.”
A flower fell. No one admitted pushing it.
The Buddha adjusted his robe slightly, which the man interpreted as a major event. He stood up at once, overwhelmed.
“Thank you,” he said, although nothing had happened.
Outside, it began to snow, which was inappropriate for the season but well within character for the country. People complained, then accepted it, then forgot why they were outside.
The man walked home lighter, not because he had received anything, but because he had finally stopped expecting delivery. The Buddha remained seated, surrounded by flowers that would soon wilt, regrow, and repeat the whole affair without commentary.
