Once upon a time there was a monk who finally achieved self-realization. He had never forgotten that as a young monk, he had been confused and upset by ponderous and misguided religious writings. In despair, he vowed that when he finally understood love, he would write something true. Hence, he sat down to write his book. He took out the first page and right in the middle with perfect focus and concentration and a truly loving intent, he wrote the world ‘love’. Immediately, across the street, a woman put down the phone and comforted her crying child. Next door, two children gave each other a hug. Across time, a family picked up their new dog. Three thousand miles away, an unexpected wind arose and blew away the city smog.
With the same focus and concentration, with peace and sincere intent, the monk wrote ‘love’ in the middle of the second page. Immediately, several blocks away, a child was conceived and a woman who had been contemplating death, decided instead to risk truly living. Many people in the city just felt happy for no apparent reason. He pulled out a third page and in the middle, wrote ‘love’ with the same feeling and intent as before. Not far away, a woman from a dysfunctional family, effortlessly, forgave her parents and in that moment ended the cycles of pain that had dogged her. In the city, a businessman asked a depressed colleague for lunch and a mother bent down to give her tired child a piggyback. In the middle of the fourth page, the monk completed the writing of ‘love’. Nearby, a woman with small children chose to meditate for five minutes rather than let her irritation run things. A child in a coma opened her eyes. A man and woman destined to become lovers met for the first time, and a wise and gentle healer felt a tumour dissolve beneath her hands. The monk did this 365 times, for each day of the year. And everywhere, love bloomed.