Take a handful of the clear stream, quietly feel the sound of water passing by, and the tranquility of your heart stops for a moment.
In front of the brass mirror, the unadorned face is as dust-free as the ink orchid in the valley, as ethereal as a fairy. Holding an ivory comb, her long, thick black hair flowed down, reaching the ground.
The heart is the bodhi tree, and the body is the mirror stand. The bright mirror is originally pure, but it is stained with dust!
Bodhi has no tree, and the mirror is not a stand. There is nothing there, so where is the dust?