Cittā
Cittātherīgāthā (Thig 2.5)
Though I’m skinny,
sick, and very feeble,
I climb the mountain,
leaning on a staff.
Having laid down my outer robe,
and overturned my bowl,
propping myself against a rock,
I shattered the mass of darkness.
sick, and very feeble,
I climb the mountain,
leaning on a staff.
Having laid down my outer robe,
and overturned my bowl,
propping myself against a rock,
I shattered the mass of darkness.
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