I’m standing at the bus stop. It’s a cold, windy day. Every gust slices through my jacket. My teeth chatter. My shivering increases. It hurts.
Ah — that’s the first arrow. Physical sensation.
Time for the second arrow: the mind kicks in. Why is it always like this? I’m freezing. I’ll be late. This is miserable. The suffering multiplies.
I try to reduce the second arrow. I tell myself, just notice the cold, don’t resist it. My mind isn’t sure if focusing on the sensation will make me even colder rather than warmer. I’ve read the theory — I know the story of the second arrow — but theory doesn’t stop teeth from chattering.
Then I see a bus a couple of blocks down. Without thinking, the suffering of the second arrow diminishes. Just like that. I’m amused. The cold is still there, but my mind is lighter.
I look again. Not a bus. A truck. Boom — second arrow strikes again. Tightness, irritation, “I can’t believe I got tricked.”
A small experiment: I just imagine the bus instead. The second arrow softens. Relief. Laughter bubbles up.
Can I remember this?
The cold hasn’t changed. The bus hasn’t moved. Suffering arises not from the wind or the chill — but from the stories I tell about them. And sometimes, if I play with the story, I get to choose if it stings or just tickles.
Spiritual Gravity 