The Weather of Memory

At Westfield Carousel shopping centre the crowd moved like a restless river.

People carrying shopping bags, children pulling parents toward toy stores, couples comparing shirts under bright lights. I walked past vegetables stacked in neat green rows, perfume shops breathing out sweet air, mannequins frozen in perfect poses.

And then, for no reason at all, the thought came quietly:

What if Mañjughoṣa were here?

Not in a thangka.
Not seated on a lotus with a flaming sword and scripture resting on a blue utpala flower.
But here — somewhere between the food court and the crowded escalators.

Would I even recognize him?

Maybe he would look ordinary.
A tired old man holding grocery bags.
A young student in worn sneakers.
Someone smiling gently while waiting in line for coffee.

And if he spoke to me, would I know it was him speaking?

That is the puzzling part.

We imagine wisdom arriving wrapped in light, announced by music and silence. But perhaps wisdom walks unnoticed through shopping malls, blending into crowds, carrying vegetables home after work.

So I kept looking at faces while moving through Carousel.
Not staring, just wondering.

Perhaps I saw him for a brief second.
Perhaps I walked right past him.
Or perhaps he was the quiet thought itself — the strange longing to search for him among ordinary people.

# posted by Sonam Phuntsho @ Monday, May 18, 2026