I always look up to the sky to give my heart to the Buddha, and my cassock ruthlessly destroys the Bo Ming Sutra.
When the bodhicitta cries, its oily roots are gone, and the iron tree blossoms and sheds red tears.
This predestined relationship is as deep as a glance, God will not lend it to you to create love
Always longing for butterflies to fly, envying fish to kiss the water
I thought my life would pass the ancestral pass, but my last wish was to die trapped in the Western Mountains