Stormclouds that threaten to tear me apart: 'not mine'.
Feeling rejected and lonely at heart: 'not mine'.
Bright, fleeting joys that land on my shoulder: 'not mine'.
Distressing thoughts that crush like a boulder: 'not mine'.
Such fortune to know the false from the true
Sakyan Sage, where would I be, without you?
Then the Blessed One, picking up a tiny bit of dust with the tip of his fingernail, said to the monk, "There isn't even this much form...feeling...
perception...fabrications...consciousness that is constant, lasting, eternal, not subject to change, that will stay just as it is as long as eternity."