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Where is that sorrow, where is that weeping, where is that disease, where is that face, and that abode of fire is where which these ears, eyes and hands heard, saw and touched in the dream? The dream has turned out false in toto, the deadly result of the dream has passed off.
'The kusalata (well-being) of the pitcher is my kusalata (proficiency),' saying thus the potter welcomes the kiln joyfully, and taking a spade in hand removes the sandy ashes lying on the chest of the kiln. As the ashes get removed so does the curiosity of the potter increase as to when does the safe pitcher become visible....
Lo, now it is seen! The colour of the ashes, the body of the pitcher both are one, both are together, the eyes are cognising rightly,
296 :: Silent Soil
