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The wandering saint, not fey, but startlingly -- perhaps even painfully -- clear, sharp, merciless in his words. There is no room for ego to fester here; what remains, post-lancing, is the purity and radiance of the bodhicitta, the substanceless essence of the substanceless dream, as another once wrote. For this heir to Shantideva, I offer my gratitude, my devotion, and my joy.