On the way home I kept listening to Dao Lang's "Thank You." If there's one last thought before I die, I hope it would be: thank you.
Around four in the morning, driving through the Hebi section of the Beijing-Hong Kong-Macau Expressway, heavy snow. I saw two minivans sideways across the road ahead. I slowed down, swerved, and passed on the inner side, only to drive onto ice. I felt the car losing control, about to crash into the inner guardrail. I turned the wheel toward the outer side and hit a black sedan. Then the car spun around once on the road and stopped. The memory between hitting the sedan and coming to a stop is still lost to me — I only remember turning the wheel a few times.
After the car stopped, I immediately realized there was a risk of a secondary accident and ran out. As I opened the door, I felt the side airbag deploy. After calming down outside the guardrail for a moment, I asked a fellow to keep watch for me, went back to the car to find my phone and glasses, turned off the engine, and put on my down jacket. Then I went to the guardrail and waited until the police and rescue arrived.
Standing by the guardrail chatting with others who'd been in accidents — grateful, grateful, grateful to heaven, grateful to the Buddha for letting me survive. Grateful that I had my accident here and now, preventing a worse one at some other time and place. Sometimes, you can't stop unless something happens.
During the moment the accident happened, I didn't think "thank you" — in fact, I didn't think anything at all. Luck and good fortune were with me this time. The next time I face danger, I hope I can remember to say thank you.
Thank you — I survived, without a scratch. From a physics standpoint, thank you, seatbelt; thank you, airbag; thank you, ESC. At the root of it all, thank you — thank you for every twist of fate in my life, thank you to you who read or don't read these words, thank you for everything you've given me.
Everyone on this journey is a manifestation of the Bodhisattva.
Revised on