The last three years of my life have been like a long, long dream.
In the dream, there were peach blossoms, bamboo groves with flowing water, and monks in white robes. The strings of the harp were broken, the narrow sword was sealed in its leather sheath, and Sanskrit music continued to sing. I stood on the water dressed in red, and the shadow of the water shattered the scenery of the lake and mountains.
If there must be a beginning, it is just a dispensable glance.