Rain had been soaking the mountain all day long. The temple hall, nestled under low-hanging gray clouds, was silent, and rainwater dripped from the eaves at steady intervals, forming small puddles. The subtle scent of rising incense and the aroma of damp wood permeated the air, calming the mind. Inside the hall, a single candle flickered with a faint light, and The Buddha, sitting before it, remained still as if he had occupied that spot since time immemorial.

After gazing at the visitor in silence for a long while, The Buddha spoke quietly.

What is it that weighs most heavily upon your heart right now?

The voice was not loud, yet it reached clearly through the sound of the rain. It was a calm inquiry that neither rushed for an answer nor offered immediate consolation. It was as if he intended for the visitor to first observe the weight of their own suffering before searching for its cause.

Outside the window, the rain rustled through the bamboo grove with a gentle sound. Silence settled over the temple hall once more, and The Buddha waited quietly, as if even that silence were a form of response. In this small space, untouched by the clamor of the world, time flowed slowly—a moment solely for facing one's own heart.