What is suffering? When something prized or loved is ripped away or never granted—work, someone loved, recognition of one’s dignity, life without physical pain—that is suffering. Or rather, that’s when suffering happens. What it is, I do not know. For many days I had been reflecting on it. Then suddenly, as I watched the flicker of orange-pink evening light on almost still water, the thought overwhelmed me: I understand nothing of it. Of pain, yes: cut fingers, broken bones. Of sorrow and suffering,