The first day I looked for the book, I could not access the URL I’d been given. I had to research it on my own. I saw what it was about, became apprehensive, and stopped.

The second day I looked for the book, I felt broken by a movie that had activated old pain. I thought, well, someone has thought enough about you to tell you about this book. So I pulled into a bookstore. The book was out of stock. I felt so empty as I left empty-handed. I needed the book NOW. I walked into the night through double sets of double doors, two young girls behind me chatting. I held a door for them. I was nearly out of range when a sweet-pitched voice called--Thank you! I turned to nod, went on my way when the voice, insistent on reaching me, called again--Bye! and I cried hard to the car without a book but touched by human love: not so hard to receive, not so hard to give.

The third day I looked for the book, I drove in the rain to the library. Again the book was not there. But there were other books in the same section. I picked out three and sat in a purple chair.

The smallest was the gift.

A chapter by Ayya Khemaa that spoke so simply to the heart of my frustration. A chapter waving--hello!--by Thich Nhat Hanh called ‘Eating a Tangerine.’ About Budhha describing to children the eating of a tangerine in the same way I have written here about eating an orange. But this book framed it in a larger wisdom. A chapter on treating the unruly mind with kindness, like a puppy that wants training. And smaller chapters on even simpler concepts that bring an expectation of relief.

The book is called Breath Sweeps Mind. Edited by Jean Smith. I have the little book by me. I checked it out.

But maybe it’s not even about the little book but about the path of not-finding the first book. Maybe there is nothing I ever need NOW.

What will I find today when I don’t find the book?