You promise me a world, and I will give you a white coat.
It does not come from the sky, nor is it the luxurious brocade in the hands of the Weaver Girl. It is a desolate looking back shadow in the most prosperous loneliness of the world of mortals, filled with wordless legends.
It is always so quiet, the passing years cannot take it away, and the Buddha's sound cannot be taken away.
Conception: