“The spirit is shaped on the anvil of time.” — doña Río

The storm’s gift comes

goes

leaves no trace;

permission to grieve

granted

from the rain on our face.

Strong winds and sun temper our skin.

With a slow single breath,

Thunderbolt Mind flows back in.

Mount up, riders!

Mount up!

The protectors of Anraku are gathering.

While the Dark Lords shape this pained and Heavy World,

the liberating lotus-wisdom continues to swirl.


O Victorious Cloud Bodhisattvas!

We have already won the battle!

We have already won the fight!

Even if we perish on spears today,

we ride upon steeds of light.

We ride upon the Steeds of Light.


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