The Story of the Second Arrow

Let your eyes close. There is nothing left to do tonight but listen.

A long time ago, in a grove of tall trees outside a quiet town, the Buddha sat with a small group of people who could not sleep.

The evening was warm. Someone had lit a single lamp, and moths came and went from the light without hurry.

One of them said: teacher, life keeps hurting me. Does it hurt you too?

And he said: yes. I feel cold and heat. I feel loss. Pain comes to everyone who has a body and a heart.

Then he said: imagine a man walking through a wood, and an arrow strikes him. That is the first arrow. It hurts.

Now imagine that after the first arrow, he shoots himself with a second arrow. Then a third. Then a fourth.

The second arrow is the one that says: why me. The third is the one that says: this will never end. The fourth is the one that says: it must be my fault.

The first arrow was given to him. All the others he made himself, out of his own fear.

The group sat with that for a while. The lamp guttered and steadied.

You have been shot with first arrows too. Real ones. Money that ran out. Words someone said. A door that closed.

Tonight, you don't have to pull anything out. You only have to stop reaching for the next arrow.

Just for tonight, set the bow down in the grass beside you.

The pain that is truly yours will be smaller than you thought when it stops being multiplied.

Breathe in slowly. Let it out even more slowly, like the tide going back out.

In the grove, one by one, people began to lie down on the warm ground.

Nobody solved anything that night. They only stopped adding to it, and sleep came easily after that.

The lamp burned low. The moths drifted off. The trees kept doing what trees do, quietly, all night long.

You are allowed to be one of those people lying in the grass, hurting a little, adding nothing.

Let your jaw soften. Let your shoulders sink. There are no more arrows tonight.

Rest now. The grove will hold you until morning.