I don't know how to write copy, so I'm lazy. . .
That day,
I closed my eyes in the fragrant mist of the Sutra Hall,
Suddenly I heard the true words in your chanting;
That month,
I shake all the prayer wheels,
Not for salvation,
Just to touch your fingertips;
That year,
Kowtow and prostrate on the mountain road,
Not for an audience,
Just to be close to your warmth;
That life,
Turning around mountains, rivers, and pagodas,
Not for cultivating the next life,
Just to meet you on the way.
Conception: