And now, she sees me every day, she said in her letter. And she wrote poetry to me. And I couldn’t believe this was my mother because she never wrote poetry before. And it’s so beautiful. […] Everything she said was spiritual. Every word she said was Buddha. “Oh, I wish I could follow the Buddha. I wish I could follow You, the Buddha.” She wouldn’t say me, the daughter, anymore. Everything was reverent and spiritual. And I couldn’t recognize my mother. She was different from the way I knew her. […]
She meditates four hours at least per day with her very old and painful condition. She has rheumatism. And some of the wounds that she had before, during the war, it hurt her. And the only thing she prayed to me is that, “Please help the condition to lessen so she could sit longer.” That’s all. […] They never blamed us, anyone, for not taking care of them or not giving them this and that and others, or not being the way they expected. […]
But my mother was also a very good woman, a very humble wife. I remember even though she raised us, and everybody knows this, most of the finances came from her, but whenever I wanted something extra, I always had to go to my father and ask his permission. She made me go to my father and ask his permission before I could get what I wanted. Not because she earned all the money, she took care of the whole house, and she played the boss. […]
My mother, parents didn’t see me at all, just a long-distance initiation, and she had such beautiful experiences. So have no fear that I’m not with you. […] Not that I want to praise my parents, but I think you can learn something from this. Don’t take them for my parents, but maybe for your parents. Or for anyone that is good that we could learn from. Because I could learn from them also. Their humility, their generosity, their sacrifice. No wonder she can see the inner Master every day. […]
