Imagine making soul bells that knell when a songbird dies. A chorus, a cacophony, an avalanche that draws us to, drowns us in threshold sound. How long could it be endured? We know now how to collect death to study life. But can we collect and release the sound of life's graduation, its course fulfillment?
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I've heard your distant thrush decrescendi, sweetly marking dawn with song. Why did I not then hear your cries for help, four meters from my door?
"...Occasions of hatred are never settled by hatred. They are settled by freedom from hatred."Dhammapada 1.5