It was a week before Norzang would complete his first season on earth—three months young on the 3rd of May, 2025. The morning air held a whisper of spring, though clouds still lingered like hesitant thoughts. It was a Saturday, a brief pause from the week’s rhythm, and the perfect moment we had long awaited.
My wife, with hands that know the language of devotion, prepared Puri for lunch—golden circles of warmth that spoke of care. As we took turns dressing Norzang and sharing our meal, there was a quiet rush in the air, a sense of something sacred unfolding. By 2:30 p.m., an Uber became our chariot, carrying the three of us to the serene grounds of Thrangu Monastery in Richmond.
Upon arrival, we were greeted by the hush of reverence—volunteers and monks preparing for the evening chants, their crimson robes moving like calm waves in the tide of time. We bowed in prostration, placing our foreheads on the earth with Norzang cradled in our arms, offering him to the blessings of awakened minds.
I approached a monk to ask about offering a butter lamp, and he advised me gently to visit the reception to make a payment after explaining different options of butter lamps offering they have. There, I placed $30—an offering not in value, but in intention—for a flame that would burn for three days, each flicker a silent prayer. I was given a slip of paper, and with a humble hand, I wrote blessings for our son: a wish for his long life, protection from any afflictions, and a heart anchored in wisdom.
As chants began to echo through the hall—low and timeless—we sat quietly, letting the sound wrap around us. Norzang, wide-eyed and bright, babbled as if trying to join the chant. Joy bloomed on his face like the first light of dawn. But as fatigue crept in, he grew fussy, and we knew it was time to leave.
Just before exiting, at the monastery's entrance, we stopped by a mural of Thuenpa Puenzhi—the Four Harmonious Friends—painted in still joy on the wall. There, we captured the moment. My wife and I took turns holding Norzang, each photo a frame of memory. Then, with kind permission, a smiling Chinese volunteer helped freeze us all in a single click—father, mother, and child, woven into one sacred image.
The ride home was soft and quiet. Norzang, carried by the lull of movement, slept peacefully in the Greco car seat. We were filled with gratitude—a calm, golden kind—the kind you carry not in your hands, but in your soul.
It had been a long-time wish: to bring our son to a place of blessings, to bathe him in prayers older than mountains. And at last, it came to pass. May Norzang walk this world in peace, live a life of light and length, and grow into a gentle follower of the Buddha’s path.
