“We are all capable of believing things which we know to be untrue, and then, when we are finally proved wrong, impudently twisting the facts so as to show that we were right. Intellectually, it is possible to carry on this process for an indefinite time: the only check on it is that sooner or later a false belief bumps up against solid reality, usually on a battlefield.”
Faxian (also Fa-Hsien or Fa-hien) was a 4th century Chinese scholar who sought out ancient Sanskrit manuscripts to translate into Chinese. His travels took him throughout the Buddhist kingdoms of Asia. His primary work is the Record of Buddhist Kingdoms.
Xuanzang was a 7th century Chinese scholar who travelled throughout India and spent over 16 years in the area around Patna and Nalanda studying medicine, philosophy, logic, astronomy, grammar, mathematics – and of course, Buddhist texts.
This is the moment when you see again
the red berries of the mountain ash
and in the dark sky
the birds’ night migrations.
It grieves me to think
the dead won’t see them –
these things we depend on,
they disappear.
What will the soul do for solace then?
I tell myself maybe it won’t need
these pleasures anymore;
maybe just not being is simply enough,
hard as that is to imagine.
I ASK no kind return of love,
No tempting charm to please;
Far from the heart those gifts remove,
That sighs for peace and ease.
Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,
That, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But turning, trembles too.
Far as distress the soul can wound,
‘Tis pain in each degree:
‘Tis bliss but to a certain bound,
Beyond is agony.
Five or nine times over in a night
the god exalted me and mine, and now
he comes one measly time from early dark
till dawn: I get it up a little, if
at all, and feel half dead. The god of thieves
pickpocketed the purse he used to fill,
leaving the useless part to me, and age,
and now he leads my soul toward hell.