Months ago, three bronze heads of the Buddha appeared in a carpet shop a few doors from the Kolding Caffe, where I go almost every day. Mounted on pretty black blocks, the heads attracted me at once. Small and dainty, they struck me as most inviting. So far, I must have stopped to look at them at least a dozen times. A month or so ago, one of the heads vanished. It was apparently sold, but two bronze heads are still there. On one occasion I even tried to enter the shop and inquire about the heads, but it was closed for some reason. Anyhow, I am puzzled by my interest. I do not like gadgets of this sort. I do not wish my world to be cluttered with them. And yet, the interest persists. The Buddha’s head seems to be an exception to my resistance. I wonder why, for it is nothing but yet another gizmo destined to collect dust.

Addendum I (February 22, 2013)

On my way to the Kolding Caffe this morning, I looked into the window with the two bronze heads one more time. Once again, I felt the pull. “That’s not the Buddha,” I heard an inner voice this time around. “You’re the Buddha.” A bit confused, I left the shop window and kept walking toward my destination. That was not my voice, though. Not really. But then I lifted my head and straightened my spine. “Yes,” I heard myself, this time in my own voice, “I’m the Buddha.” And that was simply that.

Addendum II (May 15, 2013)

As I was walking past the carpet shop on my way to the Kolding Caffe this morning, I noticed that someone was inside, and I immediately decided to try my luck. I found a rather unpleasant man in the shop. He seemed not to be pleased to see me, either. “I would like to buy one of the Buddha’s heads in your window,” I said. He nodded, but he seemed not to be sure what I was talking about. “I would like to offer thirty euros for it,” I said in the hope that he was used to bargaining. He went to the window and fetched one of the heads. “It’s forty-five euros,” he said after checking the price tag attached to it. “How about my offer?” I asked. “No way,” he gave me a puzzled look, “it’s pure copper!” I thanked him and left the shop. For some reason, I felt relieved by the outcome of my unexpected bargain. “It’s not the Buddha’s head, after all,” I chuckled to myself. “Pure copper, instead!”

Addendum III (November 21, 2013)

While in the Croatian capital, I pass by the carpet shop nearly every day. And I always make sure to look at the window with its copper heads, which are there to this day. “Pure copper,” I mumble to myself every single time. By and by, the shop has become my shrine. The shrine of pure copper, to be a bit more precise. For the Buddha has left it never to return.