May 12th, 2025, 7:05 AM
Each month, when the 15th moon rises along the Buddhist path and the Western calendar marks the 12th, something quiet and sacred returns to our lives—the day our son, Norzang, was born. A light wrapped in soft skin and steady breath.
As auspicious as the full moon day itself, this marks the completion of Norzang’s monthly birthday cycle—a beautiful, lunar journey coming full circle. What a joyful coincidence it is to celebrate two blessings in one: the sacred glow of the full moon and the closing of his each monthly cycle.
Since his arrival, he has drawn people to him like petals to sunlight. Both near and far, friends have come bearing whispered prayers and gifts steeped in love. Their laughter echoed through our walls, celebrating his presence with grace. Yet, my wife and I chose to wait, to mark his official family celebration on his third-month birthday—just us, in the quiet warmth of our home.
We picked May 11th, 2025—a Sunday that worked for our hearts and schedules, though his lunar birthday fell the next day. For a week leading up, I poured love into every detail—designing banners, gathering the essentials, and making sure everything felt right. By the evening of May 10th, all was ready.
And then, the day came. Our little boy—our sweet Norzang—joined the celebration with joy, not tears, easing my anxious heart. He smiled, played, and gave us his presence in the purest form.
With love and tenderness, his uncle captured him in a photograph—a moment framed in time that will outlive even memory. Shacha came bearing currency as prayer, wishing him a life as long and unfaltering as the river that never questions its flow.
As tradition called, I offered him a white scarf and bowed my head. My silent wishes poured forth: May his days be bright with health, his steps grounded in happiness. May his voice remain pure and his mind forever free.
Yet even as joy filled our home, truth lingered quietly in the corners. Norzang came to us not with the wealth the world counts but in the quiet, challenging days. We were not yet fully settled then. And for that, I ask his forgiveness—for not giving him more of what the world deems valuable.
But what he gave, and what we received, was something richer. His presence has brought a kind of wealth no coin could mimic. He is our true treasure. He made us whole, not through stability, but through the soul.
So may he grow strong in body, kind in speech, and wise in mind. We love him beyond the reach of words. He is, and always will be, our Joy of Pure Wealth.
And now, while the world outside begins to stir, I sit here, watching over the dawn that is my son.
Written with love on May 12, 2025, at 7:05 a.m., beside my sleeping son
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