The Death of the Buddha Mother

People have always wondered what God's pupils look like. In the seventh century, when Buddhism flourished in the Tang dynasty, monks said they shone with the light of five-colored glass. Children at the end of the twentieth century said they looked like kaleidoscopes. In the twenty-third century, people often imagined them as ball lightning or the spiral arms of a galaxy. None of these ideas can be trusted. In murals and sculptures from every age, God's eyes are holes. That is the answer: everything that exists and everything that does not. If you see me in form or seek me in sound, you walk a false path and cannot see the Tathagata. Bodhisattva Luo says this is the oldest and most insidious form of gaslighting. Bodhisattva Luo went to look into God's pupils. They looked like a mirror. He stared into it again and again, and saw the answer in his own eyes reflected there. A few broken, short-circuited wires, much like a snapped ribbon, much like a person's mind after being formatted.

My only memory of "Mother" is an old photograph from the 132nd year of the white dwarf era. On the eve of humanity's extinction, antique film had its last frenzied revival. He stood beneath a streetlamp that had gone dark, his suit blood-red and his scarf vividly colored. His slanted brows and eyes disappeared into his half-long, tousled hair. He held a matchstick between his teeth, nearly extinguished. When the light flickered, I saw his face. He was a man who filled in his eyebrows with charcoal and wiped lipstick off with human blood. But you heard right: he was my mother. And your mother, too. The mother of all of us who survived. That was the first curse and the final blessing he left me. He looked at me as if he were looking at another mad version of himself, 132 years after his death.

Warnings:

Cyberpunk mythology. Liu Dimei x Bodhisattva Luo, 1v1.

No pregnancy.

Theme: Life goes on.