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Who I am? Where did I come from? Where to go after death? You always say let me find the answer myself.

That day, I closed my eyes in the fragrant mist of the Sutra Hall Suddenly I heard the mantra in your chant, that month I shake all the prayer wheels, not for salvation Just to touch your fingertips, that year I kowtowed and prostrated on the mountain road, not wanting to be seen. Just to be close to your warmth, that life I go around mountains, rivers, and pagodas, not for the purpose of cultivating the next life. Just to meet you on the way