If time is like a river flowing without mercy, not waiting, not expecting, harshly and cruelly with us, mother's love always waits gently in the vast silence. If time is considered endless, mother's heart is absolutely infinite. We can count time, but who can count the immensity of mother's heart.

 

I have left my mother to follow the call of the Buddha for ten years, so my mother has missed me, and it was the time that took away so many drops of frost from the corners of my mother’s eyes.

 

Every month I call to ask about my mother, it seems like that time never fills the void of longing! It is always the same questions that my mother repeats hundreds of times, “Are you well? Why are you so thinned today? How much do you weigh now? You should pay attention to your health in spite of whatever you do. Do you still have money to spend? When will you come back?”. But for me, none of my mother’s single words can bore me. I know my mother loves me very much!

Looking back over the years, there were times when we misunderstood each other. Mom, you surely felt disappointed many times when I came to visit you, right? You must have thought that now, I am no longer your child like before. My strict upholding of the precepts when I came home made you feel that there had been a great distance between us. But my love for my parents is still the same as before, the only difference is that it flows inward. I am strict with myself because I want my parents to look at me and develop more faith in the Triple Gem.

Now, I feel that I no longer have much affection for my parents, and my return or departure is no longer filled with the same longing and attachment as when I was still with them. But it does not mean that now my feelings for my parents have become dry like sand in the desert. I love my parents in the way that Buddha said it is the feeling of separation or more clearly, "in the light of the Dharma". Only those who have walked on that path can feel such love of a monk, but I believe that one day my mother and I will soon understand and better love each other.

 

I remember once in the Ullambana season of that year when I visited my parents, I felt so warm next to my mother. She asked me two questions, and until now I still remember every word we talked to each other. My mother asked me:

- After becoming a monk, do you still miss your parents?

- Do you regret choosing to become a monk?

I replied to my mother:

- I miss both of you, my parents. I remember that after each session of my practice, I always pray to the Triple Gem to bless you for good health and diligence in your practice.

 

- I do regret it. I regret that I became a monk too late. The day I returned to the pagoda, I knew that you felt uncertain and still did not have the courage to see your child off to the car. You stayed in the house while Daddy took me to the airport, and you quietly went inside with tears in your eyes. I know that you are often like that when I come back and leave. I want you to know that your child is not too emotionless to not feeling anything when saying goodbye with you. Your child, no matter where I go, will always carry both of your images in my heart. My parents will never be apart from me.

 

The path I take is going against this life, I realize that life is always about choices, sometimes my choices are too cruel to my mother. For many years, my mother has always cared for me every day. She always wants me to live carefree without having to worry about my parents. Every time I call to ask how they are, my mother says that they are fine, but not always as fine as my mother says. Sometimes my mother was sick, being hospitalized for a whole month but still asked everyone not to tell me. My mother is afraid that I will worry about her and not be able to practice. I remember only one time my mother told me she felt tired. At that time she was home alone while my father went to visit my brother and sister in the Central Highlands. I knew that at that time my mother needed me to be by her side to take care of her, but I could not go back to her. I could not go back because the next morning I had to go to a pagoda in Nghe An to give a lecture. That night I was really worried about my mother, so I did not sleep all night, just sitting with my eyes closed, reciting loving thoughts, thinking of my mother, and hoping that she would be at peace. The next morning, when I heard my mother said that her illness had reduced a bit, I felt somewhat relieved. I hoped my mother could understand me although I did not return, it was not because I did not love her. I often contemplate that if I only visit my parents every year, every two or sometimes three years, so how many times can I see them in total? I do not know if I still have the opportunity to return and visit my parents at the moment when they are on the edge of death? I can only try to practice to set an example and remind them to do their Buddhist practices.

 

I love and care for my parents every day because my parents are always a solid support for me to overcome the difficulties and temptations of life.

I want to practice for the rest of my life so that my parents' faith in the Three Jewels will last forever.

This Ullambana season, I cannot visit my parents, but from afar I always think of them, wishing them peace and diligence in their practice and study.

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