As a lamp, a cataract, a star in space;
an illusion, a dewdrop, a bubble;
a dream, a cloud, a flash of lightning:
view all created things like this.
In the end, on the 21st day of Sixth Month, together with the morning-glory blossoms, she withered. Her mother clinging to the corpse, burst into tears. At this moment, although I tried to resign myself to the fact that water, once it flows past, doesn’t come by a second time, or blossoms, once fallen, never return to the trees... I couldn’t break the chain of love.
the morning dew
teaches the way...
to the Pure Land
in leaf dew
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