A Volunteer’s Letter of Gratitude (September 2026)
As she translated The Moon Appears When the Water Is Still into her native German, volunteer translator Julia was naturally drawn into Dhamma reflection. Below is the letter she wrote to the work’s author Ian McCrorie to share how his stories continue to serve as a guide through daily life.
Dear Ian,
It's been about two years since I started to translate ‘The Moon Appears’.
[I was:]
Inspired by the beauty, the simplicity, and the humour of the texts, and fascinated by their depth and lightness alike.
Driven by the wish to make these treasures accessible to more readers.
Motivated by the joy it brought into my life, which was truly not easy at the time.
Supported by Pariyatti’s [Publisher], and by Otmar, with whom I would later do the proofreading in a collaborative process that made me grow in Dhamma, for sure.
Altogether, I can say that translating this book felt like the most purposeful task I have ever fulfilled.
When the German edition was published at the end of last year, I was asked to write a little text for our newsletter. I hadn't done so yet, not knowing how to write about it from a meta-perspective. And then, while sitting a course in July, I thought it would be a wonderful occasion to get in touch with you, whom I've never talked to, either in person or by mail.
So this is my occasion to tell you how much this book — with its "Geschichten-Gedichte" (story-poems), as we called them—serves as an anchor in my life.
When I am afraid of a situation or a person, I often think of the tiger-kitten curling up in the monk's lap.
When negative thoughts start to obsess my mind, I am reminded of the man not allowing his guests to sit at his table or eat from his plate.
Whenever I feel self-pity, I think of the beggar woman you saw at the roadside in India, sharing her meal with a stray dog.
When I start to over-analyse, I think of the raft-builder who never finished his raft.
When I ask myself and others too many questions, I think of the boy serving tea to the masters.
When I get in a hurry or start panicking, I think of the meditators leaving the trembling building with calm and equanimity.
When I get annoyed by sound (which I do often), I think of the drumming neighbour who can be our protagonist on the quest for equanimity.
When I tend to teach lessons to my son, I am reminded of the master giving no answers to his pupil — but respecting him enough to let him find out himself.
I want to thank you as well for your trust in me and Otmar concerning the translation, being content to have a look at it only once everything was finished. I hope you received a copy in the meantime.
I just ordered Children of Silence and Slow Time. It might turn out to be the next translation project — if Dhamma wants it that way.
Warm wishes,
Julia