Blessed with long life, one-by-one you lose your friends and the familiar world dissolves before your eyes: you say nothing, that is the way of your generation, but the pain is there. I know it and for all my worldly skill, feel powerless before it. Sometimes I think all the ancestors are there to care for you, other times I think there is nothing. It makes no difference what I think. May the compassion of the Bodhisattva enfold you both.
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