Her tears fell heavily onto the lotus blossoms floating on the water.
Quivering with each teardrop, the blossoms sent out ripples into the
murky depths The ripples became violent waves that exploded
heavenward and tore out the bottom of the sky. As the storm became
heavier,
the thunder grew louder, and the more she cried. As bloody black rain
spilled from the shattered sky, each teardrop was a haunting memory
of every soul she had destroyed in the wake of the wrecking-ball life
she had lived hundreds of years ago.
The world is a furnace in the flames of which the soul is purified.