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Transmigration is endless, like the grass and twigs in India.
Transmigration is endless, like the great earth.
The tears you have shed in transmigration are greater than the waters in the oceans.
The mother’s milk you have drunk in transmigration is greater than the waters in the oceans.
A great mountain would erode before the end of the eon.
A city filled with mustard seeds might be emptied before the end of an eon.
Even recollecting 100,000 eons per day you’ll never remember the beginning of transmigration.
There have been more eons than the sands in the Ganges river.
Like a stick falling on this side or that, beings are reborn in different realms.
The bones you’ve left behind in transmigration are greater than a mountain.