When the world was not yet formed,
When the sun was not yet raised in the sky,
The ancient ones radiated light,
It shone from their bodies.
The branches of the trees bore shining fruit,
And people’s minds held shining thoughts.
These shining people bore no malice,
They made the darkness light.
For some, however, though many shining fruits
Might hang upon their own trees,
Still, the fruits on others’ trees
They thought far tastier.
So they switched off their lights,
Stalking in the form of darkness,
And stole from their neighbors.
One by one, they extinguished their lights,
And darkness drowned the everywhere.
The time was ended, but
A single story was preserved.
After a thousand years of darkness,
The Buddhas made the sun to rise.
The age of our ancestors was past,
And our present world was formed.
Now even more the light is needed,
And even the brilliant sun is not enough.
The world’s festooned with lights,
The stars are become irritants.
We make our faces up,
A glistening of ornament,
And nowadays we honor
The shining light in others.
The light of ancient times
Is gradually losing iridescence,
We miss the light
Of other people’s souls.
We’re looking for the times before,
We’re remembering the story.