To that end, I moved my Quan Yin statue from the dining room to the bedroom.
Later, as I lay down getting ready to sleep, I looked at Quan Yin in her new space and realized that I hadn't connected with her teachings for a while.
The more I gazed at her the more I became aware of how, in the midst of a trying few years, I had not interacted with the level of compassion she represented and offered.
I could feel tears fill my eyes as her prayer for the abuser came to mind. It's a prayer that I've yet to be able to recite without crying because of its devastating beauty.
Here is that prayer:
To those who withhold refuge,
I cradle you in safety at the core of my Being.
To those that cause a child to cry out,
I grant you the freedom to express your own choked agony.
To those that inflict terror,
I remind you that you shine with the purity of a thousand suns.
To those who would confine, suppress, or deny,
I offer the limitless expanse of the sky.
To those who need to cut, slash, or burn,
I remind you of the invincibility of Spring.
To those who cling and grasp,
I promise more abundance than you could ever hold onto.
To those who vent their rage on small children,
I return to you your deepest innocence.
To those who must frighten into submission,
I hold you in the bosom of your original mother.
To those who cause agony to others,
I give the gift of free flowing tears.
To those that deny another's right to be,
I remind you that the angels sang in celebration of you on the day of your
birth.
To those who see only division and separateness,
I remind you that a part is born only by bisecting a whole.
For those who have forgotten the tender mercy of a mother’s embrace,
I send a gentle breeze to caress your brow.
To those who still feel somehow incomplete,
I offer the perfect sanctity of this very moment.
Even now, my eyes fill with tears as I write this.
I vow that from here on, in honour of Quan Yin, I will offer compassion to all... because we all, no matter how flawed, deserve it.