Appearance is something absolute, but reality is not that way -

Host: The night hung heavy over the city, its sky a smudge of violet and ash. A single lamp flickered above the narrow street, spilling light across the rain-soaked pavement. Inside a dim teahouse, the air smelled of jasmine and smoke. Steam rose from two forgotten cups, curling like ghosts into the still air.

Jack sat by the window, his face carved by the amber glow. His eyes, cold as steel, followed the reflections of people outside, their shapes distorted by the rain. Across from him, Jeeny sat quietly, her hands folded around her cup, her dark hair glistening under the light.

Jeeny: “Do you know what the Dalai Lama once said, Jack? ‘Appearance is something absolute, but reality is not that way — everything is interdependent, not absolute. That view is very helpful to maintain a peaceful mind, because the main destroyer of a peaceful mind is anger.’”

Jack: (smirking slightly) “Ah, yes. The comforting logic of spiritual relativism. Everything is connected, nothing is real, so why get angry — that’s the summary, isn’t it?”

Jeeny: “It’s not about denying reality, Jack. It’s about seeing how fragile and interwoven everything truly is. That’s what helps you let go. When you realize that even the worst insult or injustice arises from a chain of causes, it loses its power to make you angry.”

Host: A gust of wind rattled the windowpane. Outside, a bicycle passed through the rain, its wheels slicing the puddles into silver rings. Jack took a slow sip, the steam clouding his expression.

Jack: “So, when someone lies to you, or betrays you, you just say, ‘Oh well, everything’s interdependent’? That’s not wisdom, Jeeny — that’s passivity dressed as peace. Sometimes anger is the only honest response.”

Jeeny: “Honest, maybe. But not helpful. Anger blinds you, Jack. It turns you into what you hate. You think it gives you power, but it only enslaves you.”

Jack: “And what do you suggest instead? Smiling while someone hurts you? The world isn’t a monastery. People lie, politicians deceive, corporations exploit — and you tell me to just ‘see interdependence’? It’s an excuse for inaction.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s a call for understanding. You fight, yes, but without hatred. You act, but without poison in your heart. Look at Gandhi — he fought the British Empire, yet his power came from compassion, not rage. That’s what the Dalai Lama meant.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. The sound of rain deepened, steady as a heartbeat. Jeeny’s eyes glowed softly in the half-light, her voice calm but firm. The tension between them was like a bowstring, stretched but not yet released.

Jack: “Gandhi was lucky his enemies had a conscience. Try preaching compassion to a dictator. Try explaining interdependence to a man who’d burn a village for profit. The world runs on power, Jeeny — not on enlightenment.”

Jeeny: “And yet power crumbles, always. Empires fall, leaders die, anger eats itself alive. You think that’s strength? It’s just decay. Real strength is the kind that doesn’t destroy its own peace to exist.”

Host: A moment of silence stretched. The teahouse seemed to hold its breath. In the far corner, a young waiter wiped the same table again and again, his movements slow, meditative.

Jack: “You’re saying I should detach myself from anger. But anger is what drives change. Every revolution, every civil rights movement, every act of resistance — it all starts with anger.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It starts with pain. With a wound that refuses to be silent. Anger is just the smoke that rises when pain burns too long. But you don’t heal by feeding the fire — you heal by finding its source.”

Host: Jack looked at her, his eyes shadowed by something almost like fear. The rain outside softened into a drizzle, each drop tapping the glass like a heartbeat slowing down.

Jack: “You sound like you’ve never been angry.”

Jeeny: “Oh, I have. When my father died, I hated the doctor who couldn’t save him. I hated the hospital, the system, the world. I wanted something to blame. But later, I saw — the doctor was exhausted, the hospital underfunded, the nurses overwhelmed. My anger didn’t fix anything. My understanding did. That’s interdependence, Jack — the chain of causes that goes deeper than the face of what hurts you.”

Host: Jack’s fingers tapped the table, slow and rhythmic. His eyes softened slightly, then hardened again, like waves hitting rock.

Jack: “So you’re saying reality isn’t absolute — it’s a web. And because of that, I shouldn’t be angry. But doesn’t that also mean justice becomes blurred? If everything is interconnected, then no one’s truly guilty.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It means responsibility is shared. It doesn’t erase guilt; it reveals its roots. You can still hold someone accountable — but without hate. That’s the difference.”

Jack: “Sounds idealistic.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But so did peace once.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked. A faint melody played from the old radio behind the counter — a violin, slow and mournful. The air shimmered faintly with the heat from the teapot.

Jack leaned back, his voice lower now, almost reflective.

Jack: “So what you’re saying is — by understanding interdependence, we disarm anger. Because anger assumes someone is fully to blame, isolated. But if everything’s connected, anger loses its target.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. When you stop seeing people as monsters and start seeing them as chains in a larger pattern, the anger softens. You still resist what’s wrong — but without losing yourself to it.”

Jack: “And you think that’s possible? In this world?”

Jeeny: “Yes. I’ve seen it. In Tibet, monks who were tortured still refused to hate their captors. They said, ‘We pray for them, for they are suffering too.’ That’s not weakness, Jack — that’s the kind of strength most of us can’t even imagine.”

Host: Jack’s eyes flickered with something — not disbelief, but recognition. He looked away, toward the window, where the streetlights blurred through the wet glass, their light trembling like breathing stars.

Jack: “Maybe that’s why I can’t find peace. I keep fighting shadows, blaming faces for the shape of the storm.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. Because the storm isn’t outside you, Jack. It’s what you create when you forget everything is connected.”

Host: The rain had stopped. The air now held the soft, clean scent of wet earth. Jeeny reached for her cup, her hands trembling slightly. Jack watched her, and for the first time, there was no sarcasm in his voice.

Jack: “So what happens when you let go of anger?”

Jeeny: “You start to see things as they are. Not as your pain paints them. And that’s when peace begins — not as escape, but as clarity.”

Host: The lamplight wavered, casting long shadows that seemed to bow before the silence.

Jack: “I guess… interdependence isn’t about denying reality. It’s about expanding it — seeing how everything fits, how nothing stands alone.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Even us, Jack.”

Host: Jack smiled faintly — a tired, fragile gesture, but real. The camera of the world seemed to pull back, revealing the teahouse as a small island of light in a dark, infinite city. The two of them sat there, silent, their faces softened by understanding, the steam from their cups rising into the night — two souls breathing, finally at peace.

And outside, the rain began again — but this time, it sounded almost like forgiveness.