IX. Suns of Anarchy

In the pureland, the most brilliant of suns that illuminate the realm of Amida that is recognizable are the suns of anarchy. There, they are radiating the most bliss for those like I who can bask in them. Licking the skin of all sentient beings, unannounced. Liberation, and the most obnoxious fettering. Freedom and the endless cycles of birth and death, non-birth and non-death. The illusion is this warmth I feel and confusing it with satisfaction. Clinging purely just to radiance, I grew quite dim and dull. This new propaganda, rays of immeasurable light ignite in me, but in the pureland being as bright as it is, they go unnoticed. Spark out here. No anarchists, no Buddhists, the pureland disintegrates, hell disintegrates. The suns of anarchy accentuate my shadow. This world no longer seems apparent. I’m too ghost-like to interact with ghosts, too transparent for transparencies. In Amidas state as he appears to me, I always recognize my true form. He appears at this introspection a hungry ghost, and I sit blinded by my wants in my own reflection. Behind him primordial chaos swoons somewhere in beginingless time. Namu Amida Butsu

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