During a period of intense grieving, I visited a dear friend to process all that was going on. Before I left her apartment, she led me to this painting in her second bedroom.
At first glance, it appeared like any other image of Buddha I had seen before - one of an enlightened figure sitting with his legs crossed in a peaceful manner. However, this rare portrait depicted Buddha laced with brokenness, bloody wounds, and evidence of a violent combat.
In a similar way, I had come to my friend’s apartment with emotional damages that revealed themselves in my disheveled appearance and unsettled demeanor. I desperately hoped that the pieces of my heart would be restored, the scars from my grief would heal, and the broken bones of my depression would be mended.
Writing would become a cathartic process for me and this friend was one of the first to read the earlier drafts of my first book. She remarked that the vulnerability with which I penned the details of my life resembled those bruises on the wounded Buddha and that my story would help others to heal.
A year later, my first book is nearing publication. Though I am excited to share my journey with the world, I am still nervous for others to see my scars. I have never felt so exposed in my entire life. And I will be sharing my testimony of spiritual restoration knowing the story of brokenness behind this beautiful cover image…