Distracted by the world. Your treasure has become invisible. Woe to me; I exist among objects and shapes.
If I sit still, will the veil burn away? Or, idle, will the gloom grow?
If I come near to you, you will come near to me. Rise the sun, that I may see the way to walk. Abandon me the banners I chase, that I may make room for value.
Bright light, clear view. You never left. The objects were mist, burnt now away.
O joy of seeing plain!